


Thomas Jefferson is Not Cut Out for Magic

by ALOrated



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (In the method of shapeshifting way), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cryptids, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Mentor/Protégé, Mystery, Selkies, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:27:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALOrated/pseuds/ALOrated
Summary: As far as Thomas is concerned, he's just a regular student at a tiny Virginian university. Sure, he witnessed a bird trying to break into his dorm room. Sure, one of his most annoying classmates (Alexander Hamilton, naturally) might have a habit of disappearing, returning in odd places hours later covered in bruises and with leaves in his hair.And sure, he might have found out he -- Thomas, your normal person -- is a shapeshifter. Hell, that magic even exists in the first place!Really, it's not his thing.But he wouldn't mind learning how to fly...





	1. Alex's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are -- another fanfiction, this one drawing inspiration from my both own ideas and a couple of awesome books and legends, in which we get Thomas, a college junior who has to contend with the fact that Hamilton might actually be good at what he does. ;D
> 
> I have a general idea where this is heading, but not much is totally solidified, so I guess we'll just see what happens, haha.
> 
> March isn't...really that cold here (Virginia) but it can still get pretty cold at night and snow. As a side note, this isn't based on any particular college/university/whatever campus.
> 
> Final side note: Red-tailed hawks are a real kind of bird and live basically everywhere in North/Central America from Alaska down into the Caribbean. Wouldn't really think of them as tropical birds, but here we are. ;)

 

A red-tailed hawk swept through the trees, talons twitching and wings stiff. Every movement was pained and mechanical, flaps never quite as strong as they should be. Foliage rushed by, and despite the hawk’s speed, each leaf dragged like slow-moving fingers over his chest.

Owls are built to thrive in the night. They have massive eyes and excellent hearing to single out their prey, navigating thick forests by the light of the smallest sliver of the moon. Hawks, on the other hand, are rendered effectively blind -- and as this bird forced himself higher into the sky, he watched helplessly as the trees only grew taller around him. The forest was formless, branches shifting and warping as if by another’s command, all built from a black substance that couldn’t quite seem to hold itself together, appearing as nothing but an unearthly mockery of reality.

Then came the screams. Loose whistles like a man blowing through a small gap, or perhaps a breeze by chance twisting through a set of musical holes bored into wood. The noises were accompanied by a black mist that curled from the ground below, bolstering the branches and vines, arms outstretched to catch the hawk and drag him down with them. The goop was staining his feathers, turning them from bright red to the darkness of blood, and he pushed himself harder, faster, trying to escape-!

Globs of shiny black liquid dripped from his wings, weighing him down, beckoning his return to the depths. The branches above twisted and melted together, the world dim and growing darker, his only respite in sight: a sliver of moonlight that broke through the canvas above. He flew to meet it, seeing the way it beat the foliage back, allowing him to break free of the strange goop and-!

_What was wrong with the stars?_

* * *

 Alexander Hamilton stifled a shout, shooting up from where he’d been curled under his bedsheets. Besides himself, the dorm room was empty and as normal as ever. The heating vent emitted the odd rumble or clank now and then; the breeze rustled a few papers on his desk. Moonlight cascaded from the window, mixing with the golden lamps outside to form a bar of pale yellow on the carpeted floor only interrupted by the shadows of bare trees outside.

Heart racing, he let out a sigh of relief and fell back into his pillows. Just another nightmare. Not much fun, but things could be worse, despite the anxiety that was beginning to fill him from head to toe. His mother always used to say that dreams weren’t only memories, nor were they stories or desires like other people always said -- rather, they were prophecies. The mind’s effort to warn you of the future, if you were so gifted with a look into your fate.

His gaze slipped towards his bedside table -- 4:29 AM. He had time.

Tip-toeing to his desk, he grabbed a muddy-brown cloak from the back of the chair and slug it over his shoulders. It was plain, if a little dirty, with sleeves that draped over his hands. One hand on the wide hood, he used the other to push open his window, the screen long-since removed. Cold, late winter air rushed in to replace the warmth, tossing his dark hair and making him squint.

Then, without another moment of consideration, he threw himself out the open gap.

And a second later, a hawk flew away.


	2. A Red-Tailed Hawk

Alexander Hamilton was an enigma.

Logically, he shouldn’t be. They attended a tiny Virginian university whose only nearby attractions consisted of trees, dirt, more trees, and a rural town (highlights tuned towards college kids limited to a McDonalds, a locally-owned ice cream/pizza parlor, and an antique shop/used books store that was really just a dumping ground for furniture after the semester was over). Seeing Hamilton stumble in to a 9 AM class every morning half-asleep was hardly new, and the mysterious bruises, cuts, assorted scapes, and the occasional sprained wrist had stopped being of interest the fifteenth time he showed up with a new set. Dude wasn’t over 21, but he doubted that that kept him from going out drinking or scratching his way through the forest or, considering his fiery personality, constantly getting into fights.

Still, there were the little things that didn’t seem to add up -- the dude always having his work done two weeks early, but still out past curfew half the time. Showing up looking like he hadn’t slept at all the night previously and thrown an old hoodie over a poorly fit outfit and called it good enough, dry leaves and the occasional twig stuck in his hair. Of course, that was only on the bad days -- most of the time he was more presentable...although that only made his weird behavior stand out further. Not to mention the Spring semester was only a few weeks in -- it was March, still fairly cold even for a native Virginian, and some days Alexander came in with only a tight shirt and loose jeans on underneath his jacket.

Today, Thomas didn’t even bat an eye when he rushed in exactly nine minutes late to their “Intro to Local Ornithology” class (they needed at least one scientific elective to graduate, and this was supposedly the easiest), but he couldn’t help but sneak a glance to the left of his computer screen. Alexander was surprisingly presentable that day, but had a new band-aid on his cheek. When the younger man dropped his backpack down and sat down a few empty chairs over -- Thomas preferred to sit in the back of the lecture hall, and Alexander apparently just didn’t want to be in the front row -- Thomas lowered his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring, but inevitably caught his eyes drifting back up once more.

Yes, Alexander was an enigma. Supposedly, one of the college professors had been the one to bring him here. Helped him apply to scholarships, encouraged him to join them here at their quiet university, all supposedly based on some feeble writings that had been published in a newspaper from his home country.

Look, all he was saying was that the circumstances were just a _little_ suspicious.

“What are _you_ looking at?” Alexander grumbled in his direction as the smaller man opened a cheap notebook to the last filled page, the noise snapping Thomas out of his thoughts.

“Just wanted to see how far behind you were in notes. You were asleep for the last half hour of class yesterday, too,” he whispered back, a hint of a sneer in his voice. That much was true; Alexander had missed a good chunk of their lesson on respiratory adaptations.

“I got three hours of sleep last night and already know how to breathe,” Alexander snapped back. “It’s not that complicated.”

“And you’re not a bird,” Thomas chucked in reply, lowering his voice further in an attempt to not disturb the other students. “So say what you want, but it won’t be my fault when you fail the class.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re the one who sat down next to me,” Thomas pointed out.

Alexander gritted his teeth but looked away, clearly trying to find a good excuse. “Well, I sit here every day!”

“So do I.”

“Asshole,” Alexander snapped, twirling his mechanical pencil between his fingers with a surprising amount of skill. Then, he tipped his head, thinking. “Uh, but, you wanna let me copy your notes or...?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, sneering. “Now you’re concerned about class? Psh, only if you can break into my dorm and steal ‘em for yourself.”

“Don’t think I _won’t!_ ”

“Aw, bless your heart.”

Alexander glared at him, pressing down on his paper so hard the lead broke. With a heavy sigh, he clicked the tip a few times and attempted to copy down his notes from the board, shooting a look over at Thomas every now and then.

* * *

That evening, just after the dining hall had closed for the night (and, being March, long after the sun had sank beyond the horizon at a wonderfully early evening hour), Thomas and his friends had bundled up and begun their trek back to the dorms. John Adams, a senior, had already ditched them to pass out early, so their little group was down to three.

“I really just want to know what he’s up to all night. Ornithology is just about the easiest elective you can take, it’s literally just Birds 101, and he’s, what, a freshman? Surely he can’t have that much to do,” Thomas blabbed on, breath forming soft white clouds in the air in front of him as he walked. Two of his friends -- well, one of his _friends_ in the year below him, being a sophomore, and the other a bit of an odd _acquaintance_ two years below, a freshman -- were walking with him back to their dorms. James and Thomas were in the same building but on different floors while Aaron stayed in the building across from theirs, separated by a paved walkway and short, grassed lawn. “Plus, he’s always outside, but even 70 degrees equals freezing his ass off, apparently, so he’s just doing it to suffer? I mean, forget this weather, I heard from someone else that it’s supposed to snow this weekend.”

Burr rolled his eyes. “It isn’t too cold here.”

“You’re from New Jersey, though,” James pointed out, pulling a tissue from his pocket to wipe his runny nose with, skin tinted red from the cold. “Isn’t he from further south?” Thomas wracked his memory, trying to recall if that particular bit of information had ever been leaked. Alexander had a bit of an accent, but not as strong as any of the exchange students -- English seemed to be his first language.

“Is he? He won’t tell me where exactly ‘cause he thinks I’ll ‘use it against him,’” Thomas finally answered with a grimace, shifting his laptop bag on his shoulder. “God, I just- Aaron, didn’t you share a dorm room with him last semester?”

He received a shake of the head in response. “Was across the hall, not sharing. I think his roommate ended up switching to stay with a friend in, like, the first week so he has a room to himself nowadays, unless a Spring student moved in.” Coming up on the aforementioned building, Burr shrugged, “Well. Have fun harassing Alexander. Night guys.” With a wave, he walked up to the building and swiped his card to get inside.

James chuckled as they headed across the lawn. No doubt, the grass would be white by dawn. “I feel like one of these days you’ll realize that he’s just a short-sighted jogger or something.”

That was enough to make Thomas laugh. “Yeah, okay. He does sit in the back of the lecture hall every day, and honestly I’m not so sure how he’s passing since he falls asleep at least once a week in there. But maybe the real reason is just that he can’t see the projector screen.”

James pulled his scarf up tighter around his ears, shaking his head. “Well, I’m heading in. You coming?”

“Stairs are on the other side of the building, I’m gonna go ‘round back,” Thomas replied, waving to his friend as he walked off. Mostly, really, to avoid human contact -- James’ room was on the first floor, but Thomas’ was on the second, and he didn’t feel up to wading through the group of freshmen who tended to congregate right outside of the elevators every night (that is, until the RA inevitably came in to break them up and let people get some sleep without their chatter). He was sure one of those days they’d finally be busted for underage drinking or something ridiculous like that, and he didn’t want to be in there when that happened (seriously, there was a reason why just about every drug addict on campus would at least pretend to be out for a walk in the woods behind the dorm buildings when they went out to smoke). Instead, he headed off in the other direction, passing several trash cans and a wooden crate of junk shrouded in shadow.

As he came around the back side of the building -- coincidentally, almost underneath his own dorm room window -- he paused, a faint _click-tap_ reaching his ears. Frowning, he turned around. He was a big dude, not really concerned with some creep jumping him -- besides, _nothing_ ever happened in this place. Still, what…

Right above him. He took a step back, craning his neck up, and blinked, eyes widening.

It was a large, gorgeous red-tailed hawk, with its distinctive bright red-orange tail feathers on full display...and it was pecking at the lip of his window, pointed beak nibbling at the bottom edge, almost like it was trying to find a way in.

Of course, the window was shut and locked -- it was wintertime, after all, and he didn’t want it popping open. Hell, half the time it was closed in the warmer months anyway, just because it was lacking a screen.

Still. That was a bird. A _fucking bird_ , sitting on his windowsill. Probably just chased a rodent up the wall, or something, but he had never seen one so close…he fumbled for his phone in his pocket, reaching up to take a picture. Almost involuntarily, he laughed, “Wow…”

And at that moment, the hawk fluffed up and jerked to look down on him, golden eyes staring, a second later screeching in alarm and taking flight. It swooped low over his head and checked its left wing against the corner of the brick building, crying out and faltering for a wing beat as it disappeared behind the building. Moments later, there was a metallic clatter.

Thomas felt rooted to the ground, frozen in place, both from the chill of the night’s air biting at his nose and what he had just experienced. Bringing his phone up to his face, he angled himself away from the beam of light produced by the lamp above the dorm’s back door, flicking his thumb over the glass to see if he had caught it on camera. And there it was -- the red-tailed hawk, practically a textbook specimen, if it weren’t for the occasional ruffled feather and the conspicuous scratch of raw, bare skin on its head where it must have recently hurt itself.

Another _bang_ of metal nearby, and all at once reality seemed to rush back into him. The hawk had seemed fine -- it hadn’t been injured from hitting the building with the edge of its wing, was just a little shaken from being snuck up on by a human, he imagined. But what if it had crashed and broken a wing, or worse…?

Dammit. Ornithology class was already getting to him.

Shifting on his feet, he turned on his heel and jogged after it, just to freeze as he heard a _human’s_ groan from the shadows cast by the side of the building. Phone still cradled in his palm, he clicked on the flashlight, aiming it at the wall, and shrieked.

There was Alexander, a dark shawl or blanket or cloak or _something_ thrown around his shoulders, although with the shadows, the pattern was difficult to make out. Despite the March air, he was dressed in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too small and biker shorts. No shoes, no socks, leaning against the wall with a pained expression. When the light fell on his face, he nearly jumped into the air, chest heaving and hair wild. “Gah-! T-Thomas?”

“Alexander? What the hell!?” He had just walked past this side of the building a minute ago and was absolutely certain no one was there. “It’s March, the fuck are you doing out here barefoot!?” Normally he’d just chalk it up to drugs or an equally dumb reason, but with Alex’s track record of showing up to class dirty and injured…

“I-I…” he stammered, swallowing thickly, “I...saw a hawk. And wanted to try and get a photo. For, uh. For ornithology class. My dorm building is right across the grass from yours, remember? So I ran outside…and, uh, and fell.” Alexander winced as he spoke, jumping between his feet on the cold pavement. “I know it’s dumb. Just don’t say anything. People don’t have to hear about this.”

“How’d you get out here so fast?”

“My room’s on the first floor, dumbass.”

Oh. “Uh- right.” Idiot. “Just- try not to get frostbite.” Alexander nodded quickly, breaking into a sprint in the other direction -- presumably to get back inside his own building as soon as possible -- and Thomas turned to finally head inside his own.

Something on the ground caught his eye: a single glossy, orange feather. Well. Even if that hawk he come looking for _had_ crashed, it had clearly fled at the first noise from Alex. Still, he tucked it into his laptop bag, walking around to open the door and head inside.

It wasn’t until he was walking up the stairs to his room that he realized something: Aaron lived on the second floor, across from Alexander. The _second_ floor.

He shook his head. Probably just claimed that he lived on the first floor as a snappy comeback for why he was outside with no shoes on. Didn’t quite explain the weird clothes, but who knew, maybe he liked tight clothes to sleep in.

Whatever. As far as he was concerned, Alexander Hamilton most certainly _wasn’t_ an enigma, just a loudmouth who spoke and acted on impulse without much thought behind it.

* * *

Two days later -- the next time they had ornithology class together -- Alexander arrived on time, but cradled his left hand gingerly, a nasty bruise on his wrist and that cut on his face (that Thomas had noticed in their last class together) scabbed over.

Really, the fact he was on time was something to be applauded -- until, with 15 minutes left in class, Alexander got a text. Thomas couldn’t read the message, but it seemed important, because the other man grabbed his backpack, leapt up and headed out right away.

Well. He _almost_ made through the whole class for once.


	3. An Unwilling Development

If Alexander Hamilton _wasn’t_ an enigma, Thomas Jefferson _was_ a...bit of a bore, to be honest.

He had a routine for these late Friday nights: right after dinner, he’d head on out to the main library on campus to do homework. It was a mentality thing, really -- he had a hell of a time focusing on his projects when he was just sitting in his dorm room, but when he was sitting in a little laptop cubicle, notes up in one tab and a report in the other, the background noise reduced to a murmur...well, just the setting itself and the fact he was out in public working were encouragement enough to make sure he actually accomplished something before turning in for the night. Cheap headphones in, but no music playing -- just to make it look like he was working, so that no one tried to speak to him, while he could still hear everything that went on.

Yeah, not too glamorous. But really, when his only options for entertainment were “go drink in the woods and hope campus police don’t catch you” or “go order pizza with ice cream and eat it alone,” he wasn’t too opposed to getting a head start on his homework.

In a way, he was lucky that he could even spend his Friday night just relaxing and taking a bite out of his homework -- he worked part-time, but he wasn’t that concerned about paying for college. Maybe it was a little grim, but his dad had died when he was fourteen (with his oldest sister Jane passing soon after...that had been a rough time for him...), and his father’s will and mother’s word had made sure he had his inheritance locked off into a college fund. Although outside of that, they still had a lot of dad’s old stuff, and whatever was left of his sister’s, boxes of assorted knick knacks and the likes. He had cared about his father, but had been so close to his sister...

Hood pulled up over his head, he rested his head on his palm, scrolling down the page. Just because being in the library encouraged him to work didn’t mean he enjoyed it, and since midterms had just passed, hardly anyone was in there at this hour; it was practically a ghost town.

Just across the table divider from him, a group of louder students sat down, and his mouth twitched -- it wasn’t social hour, this was the goddamn library. Trying to be discrete, he tilted his head up to try and see who it was...and internally groaned. _Of course_ it would be Alexander and his little freshman friends (well, for the most part -- he was at least 90% sure that one of them, someone named Herc or something similar, was a junior, like himself -- the dad of their group, no doubt). He wasn’t that surprised, but his attempts to ignore their (admittedly not _too_ loud, but also very close) chatter. Still, when Alexander’s voice rose to the forefront of their conversation, he paused what he was doing to listen in…

“I feel like shit…” Alexander complained. “I clipped a building the other day and got a helluva bruise out of it. Honestly I’m not sure if the cold is making it better or worse…”

There was a pause, and then someone else’s voice, softer and more gentle. “Alex, do you need me to…?” The speaker trailed off. To _what_?

“I- um. No. It’s winter, so honestly so long as I’m not bleeding out, I can just wear long sleeves. It’s...it’s fine.”

Their conversation derailed into arguing over exactly when winter ended and spring began, with who he was fairly sure was the french exchange student confusedly asking about groundhog’s day. Thomas chewed at his cheek, still unable to get back to his work. So his friends knew that Alexander was always getting beat up like that, and he didn’t _seem_ like a drug addict. So what was that supposed to mean? An abusive relationship? Suddenly his mocking curiosity didn’t seem that funny.

Their conversation seemed to have drifted back to its original focus. “How’d you get it?” Then, soft laughter. “You graceful bastard, you don’t just run into a wall.” He wanted to scoff at what seemed like a joke, but despite the light tone, the other seemed serious in their intentions.

Alexander audibly groaned. “Dude, I’ve been doing this since I was _twelve_ . Of course I’m graceful. But, uh...I got startled, and...” he lowered his voice even further, Thomas straining to hear. “Obviously don’t tell him this, but Washington would kill me if he found out I was out doing some...things that could maybe get me in trouble. Especially with _him_ \-- as in, you-know-who.”

Well, Thomas certainly didn’t know who, and wasn’t too impressed that they were playing the pronoun game.

In response to Alex’s comment, the exchange student laughed. “Ah, yes, I am familiar with that. How is it going?”

A thump (likely of someone slamming their forehead onto the table -- it was a familiar sound during finals week) and a drawn out moan of annoyance. “Yeah, okay. Laf -- I’m not doubting what Washington says that Thomas has _potential_ . But if you haven’t found your focus by -- what is he, twenty-one, twenty-two? -- you’re _never_ gonna find it! Most people get theirs by fifteen at the latest. Fuck, I found mine when I was _twelve_. At this point, he’s not a late bloomer, he’s just not one of us.” Thomas’ hands stilled on the keyboard, where he had at least been attempting to type a few sentences. “He’s just- you know that kind of person where you don’t really agree with them on anything, or even like them, but they’re also the only person you know and you’re stuck with them so you keep striking up conversation out of boredom and loneliness? That’s me right now. It’s not even that he’s not capable...he seems smart, nearly caught me the other day, it’s just frustrating because he clearly has no clue what’s going on. He’s not a part of this.”

Swallowing thickly, Thomas pulled at the hoodie strings of his jacket. What exactly was Alexander talking about…? It sounded like some nutty meditation cult, with “finding one’s focus” and all that crap. Yeah, the comment about how Alexander felt at him was a bit annoying, but that was really the least of his concerns. Mysterious injuries, disappearing half the time, clearly not sleeping at night, and now talking about... _this_.

Yeah, fuck this shit. He wanted _nothing_ to do with it. He closed out of his web browser, but something stopped him from shutting his computer. He wanted to finish hearing what they had to say, both about him and...what they were describing.

Some low chatter, and Alexander’s voice finally picked up again. “I dunno. I would probably hate him less if I wasn’t stuck with making sure he doesn’t get himself killed. I only see him a couple of times a week anyway.” A sigh. “I’m...I think I’m gonna use tonight to relax, honestly. Maybe swing by Martha’s tomorrow, but tonight...I want to get away for a bit...being out at night has always been really calming…” Thomas wasn’t really sure what to take away from that -- it was a side conversation, so it wasn’t as though they would be providing the necessary context. They all knew what they were talking about, no doubt with a level of caution as they were out in public.

“Hey, Thomas!” James called out, plopping down beside him -- and he jumped nearly a foot into the air, startled by both the sudden noise from the appearance of his friend and the immediate silence that followed from Alexander and his friends.

“U-uh, hey, James,” he replied a bit softer. They _were_ still in a library, after all, even if it was practically deserted.

Behind the divider, one of Alex’s friends simply said, “It’s getting late; we should go. And ‘Lex, really...get some sleep tonight.”

They all stood up, and Thomas ducked his head down, making it look like with his headphones on and his friend James nearby, he hadn’t heard them at all. Finally, and not too convincingly, Alexander answered, “Alright. I will.”

They left.

James was talking, and Thomas had to shake his head to try and process what his friend was even saying.

“I dunno if you’ve been watching the weather, but remember that forecast for snow? That’s turned into one to three inches tonight and tomorrow morning!” James whispered, laughing.

Trying not to let the conversation he had eavesdropped on affect him, Thomas smiled, but it came out more as a grimace. “Uh, yeah, haha. But knowing the weather here, it’ll melt by Sunday with 60 degree weather and sunny skies.” He wasn’t much of a fan of snow -- far too cold and wet, in his opinion, although it _was_ beautiful and he didn’t mind curling up with a book, lacking all obligations (in theory). Stifling his fears, he finished shutting down his computer, glancing out of the window -- despite the darkness of the late night, he could see few snowflakes already drifting down in front of one of the walkway lights. “Oh, damn. When you said tonight I thought…”

James turned to follow his gaze, snickering. “I must have fantastic timing. Oh, you heading out?” Thomas nodded, and James clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, I’ll talk to you later.”

Thomas smiled back at his friend -- he had known James for years, growing up not too far away from each other in neighboring counties. James was a measure of stability and normalcy. After a long moment, Thomas packed up his things, waved goodbye, and walked out.

* * *

Bundled up, computer slung over his shoulder, Thomas walked alone through the yellow-orange glow of the lamps back to his dorm. The snow was just beginning to stick, sprinkled white over the black pavement, and he sighed, pulling his hood tighter.

He wasn’t sure what to think about the sudden change in events. Alexander was a nuisance, someone he didn’t really know or care about, and quite frankly just seemed...off. But something about how he spoke made Thomas’ heart twinge in worry, and the way they talked about _him_ made his chest tighten in concern. Why did they even care about him? He hardly knew the lot of them, mostly just be seeing them around, or by proxy as a friend of a friend.

His footsteps slowed as he came up to Burr’s (and Alexander’s) building, turning left to head across the pavement towards his own dorm, when he heard the unmistakable, drawn out _creak_ of a door being hesitantly pushed open. Swallowing hard, senses on overdrive, he whirled around, but saw nothing, and began to cross the pavement a bit faster than usual. When he reached the other side, he once again found himself pausing, and instinctively he turned to look back at the building from where he had heard the noise -- and he froze.

A shadow was perched high above him, a cloak or blanket wrapped around the silhouette’s shoulders. A wind seemed to pick up, tugging snowflakes along, the figure’s cloak billowing around them. They didn’t seem to notice Thomas standing far below, only testing the winds, waiting…

And then they broke into a sprint, leaping off the side of the building opposite of him, no doubt pummeling to the earth below.

Horror clutching him tight, he was running towards where the figure must have landed, rounding the side of the building in seconds. Someone had jumped. Someone was surely dead. Someone, someone, someone...

 _No one_ was there. The scene was still, save for gently drifting snowflakes and a single downy feather floating in the breeze.

And so Thomas stood, the snow falling with silence, deaf to the world, until the cold began to bite at his fingers and nose and he finally broke away, running inside and up to his dorm and slamming his door. He threw his laptop bag down, kicked off his clothes, and then jumped in the shower, turning the water as hot as it could go and hoping that it would burn away the feeling that he was losing his goddamn mind.

* * *

It snowed a hearty one and a half inches overnight. Not quite as much as was expected (much to the disappointment of the freshmen guarding the common room elevator) but it had still covered the ground in a blanket of white, trees glistening. And so, early the next morning, he grabbed his jacket, gloves, boots, and phone and headed out for a walk in the woods. There was something about being out alone on a crisp and frozen morning that...cleared his head.

Of course, that only applied for when he was away from the main campus proper. Leaving the building, he could hear other student laughing and a scream as someone presumably was covered in snow. Another voice, older, came from a campus police officer trying to remind students to wipe snow off the roofs of their cars before driving.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket, and while he toyed with the idea of leaving it to go to voicemail, it was starting to get annoying. With a light huff that left white clouds billowing in the air, he pulled the phone out and yanked one glove off to be able to use the touch screen.

Huh, it was one of his other sisters. He was from a pretty big family -- he had quite a few siblings, but most of them were girls. In this case, it was his sister Mary, who had just graduated from another college the year before. He swiped to accept the call and held the phone up to his ear. “‘Ey Mary-Mary, what’y’a callin’ ‘bout?”

“Heya Tommy,” his sister replied, voice light enough. “Uh, so, did mom call you yesterday or…?”

Thomas started walking again, heading towards the trails that ran into the forest. They had yet to be covered with footprints -- it looked like even the track kids were taking the day off what with the snow. “No…?” His mother hardly ever spoke to him. Their relationship was...rocky, to say the least, after dad’s death. She wasn’t much of a part of his life anymore.

“Ah, a’ight. Basically, she was tryna clean out the attic and found a box of dad’s stuff sitting behind some junk. She thinks it was supposed to be for...well, for Jane.” Jane. His eldest sister; it was her, and then Mary, and then him. She had always been dad’s favorite, knew something Thomas didn’t, and he had been so excited when she said she had a feeling that she’d get to teach him all _they_ could do someday.

She never did fulfill her promise.

Picking at his fingernails to keep his composure, he managed to say, “O-oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Uh, it was mostly just random junk, for the most part. Nothing super interesting to me, but since you were always the closest to her, mom figured that if I didn’t want any of it, you should have it. Doesn’t matter to her. Again, though, doesn’t look like anything really. Might end up tossing it either way, but you should get to at least have that option to check, right?”

He sighed. “You’re right, it’s probably nothing, but I’ll take a look. Uh...want to drive on down tonight maybe? There’s a place here that takes donations for stuff like that, if we end up ditching it all.”

“That works; text me the address. Time? Five?”

Thomas agreed, and they said their goodbyes. When he lowered his hand to his side once more, glove still off and the cold air biting into his exposed fingers, the peaceful serenity of an empty forest on a snowy morning didn’t seem quite the same. Now, it was marred and dulled with from the conversation they’d just had.

They had each been provided for in dad’s will, of course, especially considering none of them were adults when he died. Dad was invincible, teaming with power and something that Thomas could never understand, so a measly illness being the cause of death never sat quite right, and mother refused to tell him anything more. But Jane was who had special provisions, particular items that were to go directly to her. Named after their mother, adored by their father. And when she died just after he had -- a freak accident, was what he had been told, simply became too bold from grief after their father’s death -- well, anything meant for her had simply been thrown away into storage, and that was that, end of story.

If Mary said there was nothing to see, then there was nothing to see. But you never know…

He sighed, slowing his footsteps to a halt and casting his gaze around the area. The snow looked almost soft, that sort of damp heaviness that worked wonders in snowballs. He vaguely wondered if Alexander and his friends were out goofing off in the snow, but then immediately threw the thought aside. No, he doubted it. Wherever the guy was from, it must significantly warmer -- sure, there were a few kids attending the college from more southern states like South Carolina, but even they could handle the change in temperature. Alexander clearly seemed to be from someplace just as _humid_ as the perpetually muggy and miserable Virginia, but someplace with less insane temperature fluctuations -- warm year round, if he had to guess. If the last two times it had snowed that winter were indication, Alexander was probably being dragged outside against his will, squealing at the cold, at that very moment.

Pulling on his one loose glove once more, he forced himself to continue walking. If this was going to be introspection hour, then so be it, but he was sure as hell gonna figure everything out while doing so.

Alexander. Drug addict? Trapped in an abusive relationship? Underground fight club? Dangerous hobbies? Disappearing every evening and reappearing covered in odd bruises...

His sanity. A bird trying to break into his room? Alexander showing up out of seemingly nowhere? Seeing a shadow leap from a building and melt away into the night…

Seeing a shadow. Or, less of a shadow, but there in front of him…

Crouched beneath the boughs of a cedar tree was what he could best describe as a smudge of charcoal, a blurred shadow, a tangled jumble of blackened wire. It was _breathing_ , each movement labored and sounding like static to his ears, harsh and electric and buzzing. His eyes slipped off of it, a headache forming between his eyes.

And he _screamed_ , crying out and stumbling back. “What the fuck!? Oh- god-!”

It didn’t have eyes, or at least none that he could pick out. In fact, it seemed to be lacking a true form of its own; it was fuzzy, incomprehensible, snapping in and out of his vision.

It was something he was _never_ meant to see. Something he _shouldn’t_ be _able_ to see. A black, messy void where he was missing something.

But despite its seeming lack of senses, it narrowed in on him, labored breathing turning to a shrill growl and whine, all that same static filling his ears. The pain in his head grew worse, and he collapsed to the ground, wet snow bleeding into the legs of his jeans.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t pull himself together. He was at its mercy, mind...frozen.

It was getting closer.

The horrible sound of broken electronics, nails-on-chalkboard, breaking glass grew closer.

And then all at once, he was snapped out of the darkness as a cloud of freezing, white snow fell on his head. He jerked his gaze upwards automatically to see, sitting above him, the red-tailed hawk, branch now cleared of snow.

When it screeched, its noise drowned out the noise of the monster.

Thomas only had a split-second to duck before the hawk swooped down on something he couldn’t quite _focus_ on, talons outstretched, and he covered his ears with his hands as the creature _screamed_ , rearing back to swat at the hawk.

< _Thomas, get out of here! Run!_ >

Those words weren’t spoken. He couldn’t know for sure who or what said them.

But dammit all if he wasn’t going to do _exactly_ what they suggested. Legs like jelly, he threw himself to his feet and took a few wobbly steps before regaining his balance and running -- only to be thrown forward with a _BANG_ behind him.

He rolled over in time to see a yellow glow dissipate from the air around them, burning away at the form of the monster. It was hunched over, hissing, almost as if...its senses were blinded.

And in the snow before him was the hawk, blood in the snow around it. Even as he watched, its own form warped, misty and smoky, but seemed to be held together by pure force of will -- reforming solid as ever, feathers shifting just slightly with the breeze, dampened by the snow.

The hawk didn’t move -- it looked to have been temporarily stunned -- but the monster shook its head, regaining its stance.

In a split-second decision, Thomas scooped up the limp form of the hawk and _ran,_ leaving that _thing_ behind as he sprinted towards the dorms, lungs burning, sides cramping.

Suddenly, his life seemed a bit _less_ boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has no clue what's going on -- just that he most certainly did NOT sign up for this.
> 
> I was fast to get this next chapter out due to a combination of procrastination and excitement for the story, although this week and next week are finals, academic competitions, major projects...all one after the other. So, we'll see when I can next update, and for now, enjoy quite a few more questions and a bit of a cliffhanger! ;D


	4. An Overheard Argument

Thomas was on autopilot, throwing open the back door, jogging up the stairs, and slamming his room’s door behind himself a little  _ too _ loud.

He swallowed, choking with every breath, trying to force away the urge to collapse to the ground puking his guts out. Strikes of pain clenched at his legs from the sudden excursion, but he still had a two foot long, two pound heavy bird cradled in one arm.

Clumps of sticky snow were compacted into his boots and he did his best to kick them off, vowing to clean up the water later. He could feel something damp pressing into his shirt -- he had unzipped his coat, stifling hot -- and finally shrugged his jacket off completely, abandoning it and his gloves next to his boots.

The damp patch on his stomach was blood. Not his own -- the hawk’s otherwise creamy brown underbelly was stained dark red.

“Fuck,” he declared, still panting, suddenly hit with the realization that if taking care of  _ himself _ after a scrape was already up to chance, medical care on a  _ bird _ was going to be a bit of a stretch. But it was still alive -- and he noticed that while he certainly wasn’t holding it correctly, cradled in his arms, it had curled its talons back so that there was no chance it would clamp down and nick at his chest with its claws. “Uh- um, okay, just- keep doing what you’re doing, stay still, I, euh, I’m gonna help you.” He rushed into the bathroom (he never thought he’d be so glad that upperclassmen had private bathrooms in their dorms), grabbing one of the ratty, dark towels stacked under the sink and throwing it up onto the counter. This was fine, this would be okay…

He gently set the hawk down on its side, fishing around for a washcloth and running it under the sink, cursing the dorm’s shitty plumbing as ice-cold water spilled out of the tap, waiting for it to warm. The hawk didn’t seem to be bleeding much anymore, feathers matted with slowly drying blood, but it seemed too weak to open its eyes, still limp. The wound didn’t seem as bad as it had first appeared -- it was shallow but messy, hence why he had been so alarmed. Oddly, it was only one straight cut…was the bird still stunned by...whatever that flash of light had been?

“Don’t move, please…” he begged, wet washcloth in one hand. Hell, was this even what he was supposed to do? Ornithology class hadn’t prepared him for this, especially considering he was about 70% sure this was some kind of magical bird and about 30% sure that he was losing his mind and developing schizophrenia.

He pressed the cloth down to the wound, trying to be gentle. Okay, what would he do if it was a  _ human _ he was trying to fix up? Stop the bleeding, clean the wound, bandage it up. He could do this. As light as he could, he dragged the cloth down the hawk’s breast with the direction of its feathers. The bird shifted and he paused, watching as it relaxed just slightly. It wasn’t awake -- it didn’t seem stunned anymore, but had instead...collapsed from exhaustion. Whatever had happened had drained it of every ounce of energy it had. He reached down to softly pat its legs and still it once more, but yanked his hand back with an  _ eep-! _ as a small arc of yellow light snapped at his hand. It didn’t really hurt, moreso had surprised him, and when he tried again to push the hawk’s curled talons down, his fingers only tingled for a moment before the sensation dissipated. With the hawk’s claws no longer curled tight against itself, he could see the source of the...light, being a small anklet that was clearly fit for a human wrapped around the bird’s left ankle like the bands put on wild birds to track them. There was a faint glow rushing beneath its surface, fading away slowly. After several long seconds, it seemed to have discharged and turned dull.

That confirmed it -- the residual magic bleeding away from the hawk’s anklet, the bright yellow flash that had gotten that monster off his heels. Whatever had happened, the hawk had done it. He swallowed, realizing that that meant the hawk was likely also involved with...whatever had told him to run.

And so he stood there, ignoring the whirlwind of fear and confusion and anxiety swirling around in his own mind, simply gently drawing the cloth over the hawk’s chest again and again.

* * *

 

Magical hawks had to have a degree of intelligence, right? Well, ideally that would be the case; he had wrapped gauze around the hawk’s injury and carefully settled it into a bundle of towels (did hawks even sleep in nests?) on his desk -- and he did  _ not _ want to have to deal with a scared and angry wild animal picking at its bandages. Then, he had stripped his dirty shirt off, wiped up the snow on the floor, and promptly collapsed into bed.

After several long seconds, he shuddered, skin prickling, and leapt back out from his covers to roll his desk chair over in front of the door, adding a box of junk from under his bed in front of it and finally setting his laptop bag on top. Then, back on the other end of the room, he triple-checked the lock on the window and threw the blinds closed, shrouding the room into relative darkness.

Amazing what being attacked by a shadow demon could do for one’s paranoia.

He fisted his fingers into his hair, letting out a loud groan. Sure, life wasn’t totally drama-free or anything like that, although if nothing else, it had been a lot more calm in the past few years. Maybe college life had desensitized him -- he was a junior and saw 90% of the odd events on campus as a typical night at this point. But over the last few days, things had been ramping up, and he wasn’t sure how to react. He wanted to try and convince himself he had just seen a large dog, that the stress of the situation was getting to him. But then he recalled the way it looked, the way it sounded. How it was just a void in space, something he couldn’t focus on. And he couldn’t help but shudder, pressing his palms to his eyes to try and fend away...tears, or perhaps a rising headache. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he knew what he saw, and what he saw wasn’t something  _ natural _ . No, there was something going on behind the scenes, something he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be privy too.

Shoulders tense and goose bumps forming on his skin, he fumbled for his phone, trying to find something to distract himself with, at least remembering to text his sister the address. When that seemed to fail, he sighed and pulled his pillow down over his face, hoping at least it would block out some of the outside world.

Somehow, it did. Maybe it was his own internalized fear, or simply the emotional strain of the situation, because he drifted off into sloppy rest. 

A few hours later, he bolted upright, visions of things not quite from the world he knew swirling around him and disappearing into the recesses of his mind. He had never been able to recall nightmares, but the sourceless fear remained, and he glanced over, hoping that the hawk was awake.

It still slept.

Not wanting to leave his room for lunch, he ate a (likely expired) granola bar he found in his desk drawer, grabbed his laptop, and elected to get at least a little done. It was Saturday, dammit, and he hated doing homework on Sundays. Thus, he pulled a fresh shirt on, booted up his computer, and signed in.

A few hours later, and he was pacing his room. It was a cramped dorm, though, and he was a tall guy with long legs, so he was left counting off his steps -- one two three, then turn, one two, then turn…

Knowing any search for answers about that  _ thing _ he had encountered would be useless, he had at least thought to flip through his ornithology notes for some help with birds. He hadn’t learned much to help his situation there, either, and swapped over to Wikipedia. Even there, he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, and after spending a good chunk of his time skimming over the comparisons between the red-tailed hawk and the great horned owl (why there was so much written on them, reading like a fan forum debating which character would win in a fight, he didn’t know -- nor did he really care), he finally gave up.

He had finally resigned himself to his situation when a small shuffling reached his ears, suddenly intercut with a sharp cry and a thud. In a split second, Thomas was on his feet, looming over his desk where a very disoriented bird was shuffling its wings.  _ Can it understand me? _ he wondered, pulling his arms close to his body to at least try and look a little less threatening. “H-hey, bird, uh, don’t move like that- that’s not a, not a good idea-”

It froze, almost comically turning to stare at him, and he gulped at its expression. He knew it was a raptor, and that they really did just look that way -- a hard glare, a solid stance.

That effect was quickly undercut when it tried to stand up and immediately tripped and fell on its piled up towel, complete with an almost pitiful squawk. He set his laptop down on the bed beside him and leapt to his feet, reaching out to help it, before common sense caught up with him and he yanked his hands back. That was a  _ sharp _ beak and those claws didn’t look too fun, either. Fortunately, it didn’t try to pull at its bandages, but fluffed up its feathers and took a few steps away from the window, talons making a slow  _ click, click, click _ on his cheap, particle board desk, before settling down again.

Why did it move?

_ Oh. _ It had been right next to the window. Was it...was it cold?

Reminding himself that the magic (he was gradually feeling more and more nuts thinking of things that way) hawk had saved his life, and therefore probably wouldn’t maul him, he slowly reached his hands out towards the bird. It eyed him warily, but allowed him to pick it up (avoiding the anklet), cold radiating from its feathers, and he brought it back over to his bed. It was less than thrilled to be held in the air, but once he set it down on his bed, it wobbled its way to sit beside him. If it was a wild animal, it shouldn’t be  _ too _ concerned with the cold, feathers and all, but it seemed grateful. And, quite frankly, still a bit asleep. When he hesitantly reached down to scritch at its neck (was that offensive? It was acting docile, but not particularly intelligent), it closed its eyes in pleasure, content to fall back asleep beside him as if it had never woken up in the first place.

After a while, he went back to work on his computer, and at 4:30, got up to plug it into the wall. The hawk shifted on his bed, and he scooped it up to place it back on the towel nest on his desk -- armed with the knowledge that that was  _ not _ the way to carry an able-bodied hawk, but lacking a glove for it to perch on (and recognizing that the hawk was still a little tired and dizzy), that was probably the best option. It allowed him to set it down on his desk again, but shifted its weight on its legs, reaching its head down to adjust its anklet and shuffle its wings.

He moved to clear out the makeshift barricade in front of his door before pausing, glancing over his shoulder at the bird. Thinking fast, he dug around in his desk and -- ha, there it was! An old reusable water bottle with a large, screw-on cap that was shaped like a small dish. He filled the cap up with a little water from the bathroom faucet and set it down next to the hawk. That...should be okay for now, right? The dining hall was open fairly late today, so he should have time to meet with his sister, drop anything he brought back off here, and then run off to eat. He only got two meals a day, and dammit, he had already skipped one. He’d also be able to check up on the hawk before going off to eat, and ideally sneak some food for it out of the dining hall.

Content with his plan (and decidedly needing to leave  _ now _ before he second-guessed himself and holed up in his dorm room for the rest of his life), he grabbed his car keys, moved his personal items and chair in front of the door, and left.

* * *

 

Thomas pulled into his local antique-items-and-book-store, getting there a bit later than anticipated as he had chosen to drive a little slower on the roads. They were cleared of snow in town for the most part, and reduced to slush around campus, but knowing his luck, he didn’t want to get into a car crash from slippery pavement (especially considering the already sorry state of his old, beat-up sedan).

The store itself wasn’t much to look at: the building had a low, sloped roof (still covered in snow), with the walls covered in peeling, faded red painted. The parking lot only had six spaces, and he pulled into the fourth one. Three others were currently occupied, one in a spot marked with a sign for the owner, the second in a spot marked for an employee, and the last likely belonging to a customer. If it weren’t for his newfound paranoia of void demon creatures jumping him from behind, it would be a very nice place, really. It was on the edge of town, just isolated enough to plant a few bushes and trees around the place while still being in sight of the last streetlamp overhanging the sidewalks running through the town itself. If he really wanted to, he could probably walk from here back to his dorms, although it would take him a fair while to do so (and be generally miserable considering the chill of the air outside). Initially, he left his car running, but deciding that he’d be jumping out once his sister got there, he finally pulled the key out of the ignition. Then, thoughts of being trapped where something else could come after him surfaced, and he triple-checked that his lights were all off, just in case there was any chance that he would run down his battery and be stranded.

But outside of that, snow and water glistening on the tree branches in the setting sun, the occasional hum of a car passing by, things were calm. He was content.

Yeah. All in all, not bad. Pretty peaceful.

He liked it.

Less than twenty seconds later, that serenity was shattered as the door to the shop slammed open and two freshman whom Thomas recognized as Alexander’s friends came storming out, both on the taller end of things, around his own height. The first, hair wild and curley, skin covered in freckles, was  _ fuming _ , head snapped over his shoulder to scream in anger at the other, the poor French exchange student. Their voices were muffled as Thomas was still sitting in his car, but  _ easily _ loud enough that he could pick out their conversation.

“What if he’s finally gone and gotten himself killed, Lafayette!? He  _ never _ listens to us when we tell him-” In a fit of rage, he had thrown up his hands. Thomas turned around in his seat to get a better look, seeing the freshman a bit underdressed for the weather in jeans, tennis shoes and a light sweatshirt. More odd was the old, fanciful bag slung across his chest and shoulder. 

Lafayette took a few long strides to keep up. “John, please, I can not well understand you when you speak very fast, stop! You are thinking that he is in more danger but we can not know if he is dead!”

“Oh yeah?  _ Why _ can’t we know, huh? Just like you can barely find Thomas  _ ever _ ?”

The French student threw his hands out in frustration, snapping, “Euh, that is because I am not experienced, and Alexander has abilities that make him difficult to find? And that in comparison Thomas is nearly  _ impossible _ as he does not have a regular signature, and a faint one, too _!? _ ”

John pulled his bag from his shoulder, stuffing his hand in and screwing up his face. “If you can’t find him, I-I will, I’ll find a way. I just- I need, uh, I need-” He pulled out a handful of beech leaves, snarling and dropping them to the ground. “No, to find him, I- pine! Pine needles. Virginia pine. No, white pine. Longleaf? Dammit, no, evergreen, but...hemlock! Hemlock, and, um…peeled...sycamore wood, old sycamore, naturally peeled...”

Lafayette stooped down to pick up the leaves and pine needles John had been discarding. Thomas blinked in surprise when he noticed that the leaves were still fresh and green -- they wouldn’t have leaves on the trees for another month.

“John! You know that you can not use your focus in a fit of emotion! It does not work, and you do not make that which you want! Alexander is going to return. He  _ always _ returns.” Lafayette walked right up to John, yanking the bag out of the other’s hand but not pulling it away. “ _ Stop _ . It is stupid that you waste your materials when it is winter and it is difficult to get more! You never have made something to use my abilities, and it probably does not work at first. And if Alexander is hurt, he wants that you heal him, not this!”

They glared at each other for a long moment before John ripped away the plant clippings that Lafayette had been holding, stuffing them back into his bag. “ _ Fine.” _ The French student opened his mouth to say something, but John had already begun to storm off. John jumped in his car -- he was the “customer” from earlier -- and shot his friend a dirty look. Lafayette sighed and turned on his heel, walking back inside and allowing the door to fall shut behind him.

Moments after John had left, the lot returned to that same quiet peace it had previously held, and Thomas let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Alexander was missing, and they apparently thought that he, Thomas, had something to do with it all. He thought back to the hawk, still sitting in his dorm room…

He snapped out of it when the glare of headlights reflected into his rearview mirror, and filing everything away for later, climbed out of his car.

His sister had gotten out as well and popped the trunk, a good-sized box crammed in there. Thomas sucked in a breath, forced himself to relax, and planted a smile on his face. “Hey, Mary. Good ta see ya.”

“You too, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see some...more interesting plot developments soon; this chapter is more of a transition from here to there. As a side note, John mentioned longleaf pine, which doesn't tend to grow in the area where the story takes place. When he travels, he tends to pick up any "exotic" supplies he can. The exact nature of his magic will be more explored in later chapters. :)
> 
> Yeesh. The end of the semester has suddenly hit me like a truck and I'm kinda in a rough place, but we're out on Friday and from there I'm just going to pick up all the pieces and figure out where I'm gonna go next. With life, I mean, not the story -- for once, I actually have the entire plot planned, haha.


	5. An Unexpected Sight

Mary pulled him into a hug, and mockingly, he threw his hands out when she pulled away -- he even added in a joking gasp for extra effect. “My older sister showing affection for me? What type of crazy fest is this?”

He ignored the fact that the was the least concerning thing to have happened over the past few days. Still, Mary laughed, and punched him in the arm. “I haven’t seen you since New Year’s, I think I’m justified. Plus, I just  _ gotta _ show my lil’ bro how much I  _ looove _ him-”

He laughed and waved her off. “Yeah right, but okay.” He winked, motioning to the box in the back of her car. “Anyway...this dad’s stuff?” 

“Dad’s/Jane’s, yeah,” she replied. “Not a lot to see, if I’m being honest with ya. Some old papers and stuff, a jacket-thing, some old collectables. There was some other stuff, a notebook and all that, but I...I didn’t bother really looking through it. You, uh…” She trailed off, awkwardly crossing her arms. “You remember when we were younger, how dad would head off with Jane for her stuff? Honestly this is all related to whatever they always did, so...I’m not too interested in any of that. But they always seemed excited to teach you, too, so you’ll probably find more value in it than I do.”

Thomas sighed and nodded. “Maybe so.” He stooped down to pick up the cardboard box, finding a surprising heft to it. “Um, did ya...wanna stay while I go through it, or…?” He heaved it into his own car trunk.

Mary smiled sadly. “Nah, I gotta get going. I was in the area to drop this off and get some grocery shopping done, and since it’s already getting dark...well, I need to head back to my place. But hey-” She patted him on the shoulder. “We really outta talk more. I barely ever get to see ya.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly before clapping her on the shoulder. “Better go home before your tub of therapy rainbow sherbet melts.”

She raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh piss off, it’s like 40 degrees out here, I’m not too worried. Plus, it’s not even the good kind -- it’s pineapple-lemon-lime which does  _ not _ make a rainbow -- so I think I can manage it if it’s ruined.” Still, they exchanged a few proper goodbyes and she hopped in her vehicle, laughing that she’d run him over on the way out. Thankfully, she was a fine driver and after her departure, he turned back to his car. He wanted to make this quick considering his sister had been right -- it was barely 40 outside now that the sun was set and he was getting cold.

His car’s overhead light was turned on since his back trunk was open, so he forwent pulling out his phone flashlight and instead opened up the box to check over its contents. He could clearly tell that they had been recently disturbed, but only slightly, to pick through and see what was there before calling it a night.

On top of everything else was a grey, thick fabric. Some sort of uniform or military coat? That wouldn’t be  _ too _ odd, since it was Virginia, and there were plenty of people who collected things from the Civil War or joined in reenactments. (Of course, there were also the idiots who bought up stretches of land on the highways and placed giant Confederate flags there, but that was besides the point). However, when he reached down to haul it out, to his surprise it appeared more like a thick cloak than anything else. It was plain and grey for the most part, looking like one of those poncho-like coats that occasionally popped up in retail stores, with wide sleeves sewn to the body and a string of buttons running down the center. It was unremarkable, but he couldn’t help but take pause when he felt the way it ran over his hand, soft, perfect to wear…

Alright, so it wasn’t really his style. But he could use something better for the winter months, and if his dad thought it was important enough to pass down, then so be it -- he set the cloak aside. Underneath it, he saw the pile of trinkets his sister had mentioned, alongside a...notebook? When he flipped to its first page, an old sticky note fell from the paper, and he stooped down to pick it up again.

“For Jane: So that you don’t need to figure it all out from scratch like I did.” Tucking the note back in, he opened it up to a later spot. It looked like a standard lined, ringed notebook -- something that you’d find in a dollar store with the cheap pens. But the inside was filled with notes written in a steady hand. Some were more uncertain, question marks added on the sides, while others had precise measurements.

It was a catalog. Some pages read more like a wiki entry, detailing something specific about the item in question -- likely another one of the trinkets in the box. Other pages, it seemed, were more of a journal about a place he had visited. Some even seemed to dipping into herbalism territory, outlining native plants. Well, he wasn’t so sure about the rest of it, but he did like reading about foraging. Maybe that was why Jane was always so certain Thomas would love it when he could start going out with them -- because she knew how much he already enjoyed learning about trees and shrubs. Heart heavy with nostalgia, he set the notebook down to the side with the cloak.

He glanced down at the rest. Most really did look like old antiques and collectables, for the most part. An old bullet, an ornate fountain pen. A compass -- the type used for math, not the kind used for directions -- and a case of dice. He actually laughed when he saw the dice, starting to wonder if this wasn’t just a setup for some overly-complicated D&D enthusiast, but he had never known his dad to play. Among the other items were a fanciful folding fan and an...old altoids box? Confused, he popped it open, the edges rusted, to find a folded envelope and a flash drive.

_ That _ was going in the keeper’s pile. However, the rest of it -- the trinkets, the knick-knacks -- he could probably ditch. At the very bottom of the box was what had probably been giving it its weight: a load of books. One was focused on mysterious disappearances, another on local legends. There was a road map book of Virginia and a star watching guide. A book on native birds and one on common shrubs. Weird, but alright. That was going in with the donations. Well, most of it -- he was keeping the native birds and common shrubs books for his own devices. Triple-checking that his keys were in his pocket and not in his car, he loaded up everything but the books, the altoids tin, the notebook, and the cloak. Satisfied, he picked up the box and closed the trunk. Even though he had pulled some of its contents out, he still couldn’t help but feel a little heavy-hearted knowing that he was ditching his father’s stuff; but, no one else wanted them, and he didn’t have much storage space of his own. At least if he donated it all, someone who actually  _ was _ interested in all of that would be able to grab it.

The antique store still looked open, considering the lights were still on and no one had left, so he decided to go ahead and walk on in. A light bell jungled above the door and the entire store was packed with various items -- it really did leave him with the feeling of stepping into a whole other world. He had only been in here once before, and that was last year with some friends, all of them trying to ditch their old textbooks. That was why he even knew they took donations, and why he had asked his sister to meet him there. Glancing around, he managed to navigate around a large dresser piled with animal figurines, coming across the front desk where the French exchange student, Lafayette, was texting on his phone. He popped his head up when Thomas walked over, and Lafayette stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket, eyes glancing down at the box in Thomas’ hands. “Oh, hello sir, uh, is it that you want to make a donation?”

“Yeah,” Thomas answered, setting the box down on the counter. “Uh, just some old family stuff my mom found in the attic. I’m tryna get ridda it, y’know.”

“Auh sure, yes, and I give you a coupon for you for the donation by the number of items…” Lafayette trailed off, tapping something into the register. “Can we look at the donation for to check the quality?” Thomas nodded and Lafayette slid the box a bit closer to him, opening it up and reaching in to grab the first item off the top, pausing in surprise as he saw what was inside. “Are...you know that which you are donating?”

“...Yes?” Thomas replied, falling into a questioning tone at the end.

“And you are sure?” Lafayette seemed truly confused.

Before Thomas could reply that yes, they were just some old things in a box, an older woman walked out of the door behind the counter. She was dressed in an old-timey fashion, clearly having a few years on the younger student, and smiled sweetly. Speaking with a gentle southern drawl, she said, directed at Lafayette, “Gilbert, honey, how about you leave this fine man to me and take care of organizing some of our things in the back?” He looked like he wanted to protest, but finally shook his head and muttered his agreements, turning and heading into the back.

The woman took his place at the counter, sitting down on the stool and pulling items out of the box. Where Lafayette had questioned him, she was quiet, only muttering the occasional quiet, “Oh, my,” and a “That’s odd…” as she went through them. She seemed to sense his discomfort because she paused, glancing up at him with a motherly look in her eyes. “So, where’re ya from?”

“Oh- uh...” He hadn’t expected her to say anything. “I’m, uh, from up in Albemarle, ma’am.”

“New Kent,” she replied smoothly, examining the designs on the fan. He wracked his brain, trying to remember where exactly that was. NoVa, or Northern Virginia? Doubtful, considering her accent. She helpfully supplied, “Just east a’ Richmond on 64. Go a little further on the interstate and you get to Williamsburg. Oh, and you can just call me Martha, don’t you worry.”

“Ah.” An earlier conversation drifted back to him: Alexander and his group of friends, John and Lafayette included, wherein he mentioned visiting  _ Martha _ .

She returned to her work, placing the fan down on the counter and using her other hand to type something into the register. “Tell me, honey, where’d’ya get all this stuff?”

He internally groaned. Why did everyone care? He didn’t even want a coupon, he just wanted to dump his stuff and get out. “Some of my dad’s old stuff. It was meant for my older sis, but they both died before it ever got passed down, I guess. Ma found it in the attic after it’d been sittin’ there for a coupl’a years, and since I was the closest to them -- they always said when I was older I’d get to join them in whatever kinda thing they did -- it all just kinda ended up with me. I, uh, went ahead and cleared out the personal stuff in it, a journal and all that, so all that’s left is for donations.”

She twirled the fountain pen between her fingers for a moment and must have seemed satisfied with that as she set it down soon after, adding another entry into the register. “That’s very interesting.  _ Very _ interesting indeed. Now, justa ask...do you know what any of these’re for? Any significance on your end?”

He frowned. “If I’d felt like any of them were special, I would’ve taken ‘em.” The cloak hadn’t felt special; he just needed something warm. The notebook and the contents of the tin were personal items that shouldn’t be donated. The reference books were just that: legitimate guidebooks on a topic he liked.

She sighed, seeming a bit disappointed, but nodded. “Sometimes it’s just like that, I guess.” She tapped a few more numbers into the register and then printed out his donation receipt. “Receipt for tax reasons. Coupon’s on the back. Whatever the reason for donating what you did, you have to admit it wasn’t a bad lot.” She winked, and he was mostly just confused -- he had only donated some junk items, really. But, she seemed satisfied, and so he weakly laughed and took his receipt. As he walked out, she called after him, “Have a nice night, Thomas!”

He replied with a “thanks” and headed out into the parking lot, jumping back in his little sedan to drive back to campus.

He was already back at the dorm parking lots before he realized he had never told her his name.

* * *

 

He ditched his newly acquired possessions in a box under his bed when he returned. The hawk didn’t appear to notice nor care, having fallen back asleep, but blinked up at him when he turned to leave the room again.

During dinner, he grabbed an extra piece of grilled chicken breast along with the rest of his meal. James questioned him about it, and he just claimed he hadn’t gotten a proper lunch and wanted to save it in case he was hungry again later. His friend seemed to have bought into that, as he nodded and said nothing as Thomas discreetly wrapped it in a napkin and hid it in his bag.

Back in his dorm room, the hawk seemed not to be concerned about the ethical implications of eating chicken as it seemed very happy to tear into its meal. Thomas couldn’t blame it; after at least a day of not eating, it must have been starving. When it had finished up, it thankfully nuzzled into his hand, and appeared content enough that it allowed him to recheck the wound on its chest. It didn’t look infected, and he was hoping it wasn’t, because he didn’t have any sort of disinfectant lying around.

After getting some more homework done, he plugged in his laptop and set it on his desk chair so as not to disturb the hawk. He felt a little weird undressing for bed with it in the room -- whether or not it was sentient, whether or not it was a fucking magical creature or whether he was just going crazy -- so he switched to a pair of loose sweatpants in the bathroom instead. After throwing his shirt and jeans into the laundry hamper he checked one last time that his door was locked -- the paranoia was still there -- and crawled underneath his blankets for bed.

When he woke up the next time, he was cold. Frozen air washed over his face and he groaned, shifting between his sheets, before jumping up as he realized something:  _ the window was open _ .

He was groggy, vision blurry, and barely managed to focus on the dark shape at his windowsill -- the shape of a hawk. The curtains softly shifted around it as it looked out over the sidewalk below, scanning for danger. It had ripped the bandages off its chest, and he could see that it hadn’t healed, a few spots of blood already forming where it must have torn at its scabs to hop over and open the window. He opened his mouth to say something to it, trying to stop what was happening -- the bird was still injured, after all! -- but closed it when the hawk turned to stare at him, seemingly surprised that he was awake.

After a short silence, Thomas stuttered out, “Y-you’re still injured…”

It shifted on its perch, shuffling its wings, before finally tipping its head with a light nod. And then, it  _ spoke _ , using that same voice he had heard before, unplacable, heard his mind rather than aloud.

< _ I saved you, you saved me. I’d call us even. Maybe there really  _ is _ something to you that I never saw. See you later, Thomas. Thanks again. _ >

Thomas leapt to his feet but the hawk had already taken pained flight, gliding down away from his window and over the snowy grounds, and he was once again left completely and utterly alone.

He didn’t remember getting back to sleep that night, and the next morning, wondered if it had all been a dream -- but the hawk was gone, the window was shut, and the bloody bandage was left abandoned on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proper rainbow sherbet has strawberry, lime, and orange. This is my stance and I will stick to it.
> 
> I barely ever go to Richmond (as in the city, not the county -- they're in completely different places) let alone further towards Williamsburg, so I'm actually not too familiar with New Kent, haha.
> 
> NoVA stands for "Not Virginia." ;D I'm just kidding, it actually refers to the group of rich counties around DC, AKA "Northern Virginia," and it's a completely different world from the rest of the state.


	6. An Odd Cloak Indeed

The next day, Thomas found himself sitting alone at one of the two-seater tables during lunch. The dining hall was shaped oddly, and being such a small college, an equally tiny dining area was necessitated -- meaning that while most of the area had set up larger wooden tables, along the edges small four-person and two-person tables were available, usually used by students who wanted to be alone and get some work done, or just have some peace without feeling awkward at one of the larger tables.

He was picking at a few fries on his plate, but wasn’t hungry enough to finish his burger. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. He was starving, really, but couldn’t bring himself to eat. For once, his thoughts were bouncing around in his skull too fast to fully contain and file away, and it was having an impact -- especially a problem for _him_ , Thomas Jefferson, the known foodie among his friend group! Sure, the college’s food here sucked, but he at least tried to eat the minimum calorie requirement for a tall, somewhat active early 20’s college kid. Forcing himself to swallow around a dry mouth, he took another bite of his burger, staring out of the window. The campus continued to appear almost abandoned, and while snow remained on the ground, a very clear spread of slushy footprints made their way to and from the dining hall.

He sighed, glancing down at the notebook on the table beside him and breaking his thousand-yard-stare. He had been meaning to look through it, and hadn’t had any qualms with flipping through it the other night as he was looking through the box of stuff, but now it felt like nothing but an emotional burden. Whether or not it was anything important, it was still his _father’s_. He hadn’t even looked at the flash drive yet, and hadn’t touched the coat -- but he also didn’t want to put off learning what his late father’s memory had to offer up much longer. Forcing any overly-complicated thoughts on the situation down, he thoroughly wiped down his fingers on a paper napkin and opened the notebook to a point a few pages in, past the note that he had tucked back into the journal the night before.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to expect from reading the notebook. Maybe it was nothing much to read, only valuable for cherishing memories -- or, maybe it would answer a few questions about what exactly was going on nowadays with the monster and the hawk and the insistence behind the items he had donated that meant so little to him. His father had always been a strong, forward man, and while Thomas had never been close to him (albeit closer than his mother), he was intimidating, someone Thomas as a child had looked up to. Despite the impression he had always given, his father’s handwriting was legible and while not perfect by any means, was surprisingly well-organized. Huh, maybe he was a little more knowledgeable than Thomas had always thought.

The page appeared to be written like a letter. It was dated at the top and titled “What I may tell you so that you never forget.” It looked like his father had sat down and tried to compile everything he thought of day after day after day. He skimmed over the first few lines and picked up part of the way down the page.

 

> _Of all the people I have had the opportunity to speak to, interview, learn from...among the most interesting have been the Washingtons. A husband and wife, the latter on her second marriage. Sadly, it seems that in our business, inexperience causes despair to many around them -- hence why I am writing this journal for you, Jane, in case I am gone, so that you may learn and teach your younger siblings, should any of them have our ability -- although none appear to, except perhaps for Thomas, if he has the proper chance to learn._
> 
> _What I have learned from the Washingtons is the necessity that derives from finding support and expanding your abilities. They have a unique skill, one that is in a way the opposite of our own, where we are the jack of all trades yet master of none, and they are the researchers, treasure hunters, interesting people to speak to and relate with. But what I have found is that we are by no means the norm, because of our concentration and skills, and of our focus._

He was about ready to flip a few pages in past a pointless introduction when another thought arose once more: _Washington_. When Alexander and his friends had been chatting in the library, they had mentioned him more than once. He didn’t remember the exact context, it had been a few days after all, but still...did that mean that his father and this Washington guy knew each other? He skipped down another paragraph or so, then turned the page, trying to see if anything more was ever mentioned of them. Alexander and his friends had mentioned their focus. He thought it was in the meditative sense -- even the journal mentioned concentration. But now, he was starting to wonder…

 

> _What I have learned from the Washingtons is the necessity that derives from finding one’s focus -- even someone with the ability to seek out potential present or past foci has one of their own. They’re unique, never consciously created, usually found in one way or another. They draw the user to them, an indescribable need to possess them, something that syncs with their personality, their interests, the person they’ll grow to become -- as they are most often found when the user is young, around the start of puberty._
> 
> _These single objects are intuitive. They create the baseline for the user’s own abilities, and over time, may be expanded to meet their full potential with mastery. Each one links the user to their own power, many similar but with their own unique twist stretched between however many of us there are scattered about the globe. What has set us apart, however, you and I, is that we lack such an intuition. We are not made for any single ability, we have not found an object that calls us, and certainly this is a fluke, for I know for a fact that we are built for the world we see. Instead, we have a much greater advantage -- when presented with a past focus, some magical object that came to someone else, while we cannot find one for ourselves and cannot distinguish them, we can use them as the natural owner could albeit with a time to discover the extent of such abilities and learn how to use them, while others may only use those similar to their own focus, and only with proper training that is by no means easy. And that is our greatest power -- although if I am gone, only time will tell if Thomas can present the same ability._

Confused, Thomas was reeling. What exactly had his dad been referring to? It had been the better part of a decade since he lost his father and sister; he couldn’t exactly ask now. In fact, all he had been able to put together was that his father must have had some relation to whatever questionable activities Alexander got up to, always beat up and hurt -- and that scared him, because if this was the answer he had been waiting for, it wasn’t the one he wanted -- that whatever that monster had been, it may very well not have been the last.

Movement caught his eye as passed by him, walking a few tables down the line to find an empty two-seater by the windows.

_Alexander Hamilton, the enigma. A man who had supposedly gone missing, sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the dining hall._

To Thomas’ surprise (or not, considering Alex’s track record), as Hamilton sat down, he jerked in pain, nearly dropping his drink. Setting the cup down, he lightly pressed a hand to his chest, wincing, and intentionally sat down with delicate movements. He was in pain, aching, draped against the wood, tossing his phone to lay a few inches away on the table.

And Thomas had the feeling that he had to confront him.

Standing up, he snapped the journal shut and tucked it under one arm, taking his plate and cup in the other. He hadn’t finished his meal, but at this point, doubted he could eat any more without falling ill, and walked over to the dishware return area. After dumping his things on the hanging conveyor belt, he returned to where he had been sitting, finding that Alexander had started his own meal: a slice of pizza with a fruit salad on the side. As Thomas approached, Alexander jumped -- not as he noticed Thomas, but because his phone vibrated on the table in front of him. He couldn’t see the name of whoever had texted him, nor the message, but it was enough for Alexander’s pained expression to become that of a scowl as he turned his phone over and smacked it back down on the table. He had a backpack on the floor beside him that Thomas hadn’t noticed before, what looked like that coat or shawl or whatever he had been wearing the other night in the snow sticking out of it.

Slightly more afraid (considering the guy didn’t appear to be in a great mood) Thomas walked over and plopped down across from him. Alexander nearly leapt out of his skin at that, eyes wide. Thomas waited for several long seconds to see if Alexander would say anything, but in the end, the younger man seemed to decide his best course of action was to staunchly ignore Thomas’ existence, glaring down at his food while his ears started to turn red. Finally, _finally,_ he flicked his eyes up to meet Thomas’ gaze. “The fuck do you want?” Thomas couldn’t help but notice Alexander kicking his foot out and drawing his backpack closer underneath his chair. Weird.

“Uh, wanted to say hello? Not to sound creepy but your friends are apparently pissed at you.”

Alexander rested his chin on his palm, opening his mouth for a snappy reply when his phone vibrated against the table again -- and Alexander allowed his head to drop out of his palm, groaning. “Yeah. I know. _Trust me_ , I know. I’ve just been...caught up in something these last few days.” His voice cracked on the last few words and he stuffed a bite of pizza into his mouth to silence himself.

“Mhm, I guessed that...” Thomas replied, feeling a bit out of place considering he had already finished his meal. He really should have at least brought his plate over to pretend to still be eating. “Yeah, I was dumping some stuff at the antique store in town -- that’s actually related to something I’ve been meaning to ask you about, by the way -- and overheard the French exchange student, uh, Lafayette? And that freckled kid…”

“John,” Alexander said with a twinge of fear in his voice, no longer looking back at Thomas but rather at something behind him and a bit off to the side.

Thomas was about to voice his agreements when the very man they were talking about suddenly stormed up to stand at the side of the table, slamming his palms down against the wood -- one of these days, he was gonna piss his pants from all the jumpscares he was getting.

“Alexander!” John snapped, reaching forward and grabbing at the other’s shirt collar, yanking him forward.

Alexander hissed between his teeth, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “Ah- owowow-! John, I’m still hurt!”

Thomas was leaning back as far as he could in his wooden chair without tipping over. He did _not_ sign up for being a part of their conversation as John stooped over to glare right into Alexander’s eyes. “Well, if that were a real problem, you could have...I dunno, maybe _told_ me, instead of disappearing out of nowhere, nearly getting yourself killed, and then texting your _friends_ nothing but ‘I’m alive, stop spamming me with texts’ and going dark again? Alex, I can heal you; I’m pissed but I’m also just glad you’re alive- do you know how angry Washington is!?”

Thomas got the hell out of that situation fast, barely remembering to grab his journal and making a break for the door. He was a charismatic guy, not a social one, and he was _not_ going to stick around.

* * *

 

Thomas was restless, laying down on his bed with his hands crossed over his chest; he had already resigned himself to at least attempting to sleep, having undressed down to his boxers. He was a fairly active person; nearly every day he would go for a jog or at least walk through the woods surrounding campus. He had even gotten Jemmy into it for a while, although with the stress of the last semester’s end and the cold air, his friend had been forced to stop for health reasons -- although he had promised Thomas that once the leaves grew back in he would try to pick it up again.

So, for Thomas to be laying in bed as he was on a Sunday night meant that he was unusual. He was buzzing with pent up energy, but...understably wasn’t so sure he wanted to go for a waltz in the forest several hours past sundown. And really, he had nothing else that he would do better to focus his efforts on. He had taken care of his immediate homework, even knocking out a little bit of the work for his long-term projects due in the coming weeks. He could study, he could goof off on his laptop. He could _try_ to find something more productive to do, or even go and try to make friends with the gaggle of freshmen guarding the elevator on his floor.

He pressed his palms to his temple, groaning. At this point, maybe he really should just drink some water and sleep for a while.

Or he could read more of the journal. Look at the flash drive.

Or...maybe he could try on the coat, feel accomplished, and then turn around and promptly pass out for the night. He needed to make sure it fit, anyway, since that way he would know to get rid of it right then and there rather than waiting.

Alright, sounds like a plan, he supposed.

He rummaged around under his bed, pulling the thick fabric out. As his first impression of it had claimed, it didn’t look to be anything special. It was, in the end, nothing but a coat...right?

God, he was feeling especially nuts right now, but…

He gathered up the coat and walked into his bathroom, clicking on the light but not shutting the door. Just, y’know, in case something went horrifically wrong (trying on a coat? Unlikely, surely, but what if there was a reason the cloak had been in with dad’s stuff…?)

He pulled the coat on over his arms, surprised to find that it fell all the way to his ankles -- his dad was tall, sure, but this was _so long._

Alright. Yep, he was going crazy for thinking that a long coat he happened to acquire was magical. He was losing his mind. He’d be in a mental hospital within the week for entertaining fantasies like this. But if a hawk could talk, then he could afford to be a little crazy now and then.

He moved to pull it off before noticing something odd in his reflection: it moved with an odd stiffness not quite like the sort he’d expect from such fabric. It was almost like it was...alive, which was an odd way to describe it, but the best way he could. He would move his arm and the fabric nearly clung to it rather than falling and draping -- it was organic, keeping a form. He reached around to slowly button it up over his chest, the buttons hidden by a covering that left the entire front almost seamless -- and it too kept its shape, creating an arch that moved up to meet his collarbone where he had thrown the hood back at the top, and smoothing downwards to his hips where his loose boxers where. However, once the fabric could no longer touch skin and instead met poorly-fit cloth, it bulged outwards, once again lifeless.

Feeling crazier by the minute, he reminded himself that he was completely alone in his own dorm room before swallowing his pride and reaching underneath the coat and sliding his boxers off of his hips, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of the leg holes. The effect was almost instantaneous -- the fabric around his hips fell into shape, then the non-buttonable segment seemed to almost curl around his legs, leaving him fully covered, but with a stiff backing. As he turned to look over himself in the bright lighting of his bathroom, he noted the small designs he hadn’t previously noticed on the fabric -- the way they almost seemed to form a pattern of strings and triangles, of _feathers_ , how the fabric itself wasn’t rough but had the softness of silky yarn. Where the fabric had previously been a dull gray, he now saw that it was in fact a mottled grey-brown.

He reached up to pull the hood over his head, tugging it down as far as he could go, arms wrapped around him, totally covered-

And then he was falling backwards for what felt like eons, several times the length of his own body, before finally slamming down hard into the tiled floor. He tried to push himself up, reeling from the vertigo, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on anything, fruitlessly scrambling at the floor.

Opening his eyes, he realized that he was _small_ . Barely two feet tall; if that, even. He was staring upwards at the counter, able to see the underside of the sink, but when he tried to move his eyes, he could only turn his head. Great! Now was the time to panic! Letting out a terrified squawk, he threw himself onto his feet, skidding and sliding for purchase for his _talons_ on a tiled floor. Scrabbling forward, he found his reflection in the bathroom trash can tucked under the counter, seeing brown, white, and grey feathers surrounding yellow eyes.

He was no longer a human.

He was a great horned owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are ;D There was a passing note of great horned owls back in chapter three, don't you remember?
> 
> Ah, well. Thomas' first time shapeshifting; he's still learning. And he's got a LOT to learn before he can do anything like Alex can.


	7. A Night Fall

His heart was pounding, thoughts racing, and he fought back the barrage of cries -- how is this possible!? -- with the conscious reminder that if a hawk could talk and shadow demons could exist, then a...regular old coat?...could turn him into a different animal entirely. He tipped his head, watching how the feathers moved, and turned his neck. Flexible.

The bigger problem, he decided, was that he had no clue how to change back. He didn’t exactly have much experience with turning into other things!

He scrambled at the tiled floor, talons clacking almost deafeningly loudly on the floor. Thankful that he had left the door cracked, he hopped over the divide between the bathroom and his dorm itself. He was scared, yes, but excitement and intrigue was bursting through him. _This_ was what his father and sister had always disappeared to do! They were doing fucking _magic!_ His father had left this coat because it had powers.

His hop-steps slowed. Oh.

Lafayette and Martha had been so insistent that he point out anything in the box that was special because, well, what if he knew something they didn’t? That word sang in the back of his mind once more: _focus_. Why they were so certain he had one, he wasn’t sure. Thinking back, even his father’s notebook had betrayed doubts that Thomas had none at all. God, think Thomas! What exactly had it said? Did it, by any chance, say anything about how to get out of a magical coat that changes you into a bird?

Getting to his bed, he wobbled and fluttered his wings to keep himself balanced. Find the notebook and find a way to turn back. Forget this whole mess ever happened -- first it was a shadow monster, next it was turning into a bird, where else would this rabbit hole lead!? Finding the notebook, he grabbed onto it with his beak and slowly dragged it across the floor. This was fine, everything was fine. Get back to being a human and then burn this jacket.

At least, he should...but he couldn’t help but slowly turn his head towards the window. The demon thing was on the ground. A bird flew in the air…

Irresponsible? Yes. Idiotic? Definitely! But...he shook his wings open, feeling the air softly brush through his feathers.

How to turn human again was a problem for later. For now, he was gonna figure out what this body could do!

He flapped his wings a few times, trying to dredge up any useful information from ornithology class that could help. Week one: how do birds fly? There had been a lot of anatomy in there, although he was hoping that since he looked like a bird, the only thing human was the brain. Alright, alright. It was like teaching a baby how to walk. The parents would encourage the baby to hop out of the nest, nudge them to drop to the ground wings-open and flapping. Or, while in the nest, they would flap their wings and practice getting off the ground. The baby would keep practicing such motions until they could build up the wing muscles and grew in all the flight feathers to sustain themselves. Then they’d stick around for a bit longer as they got the hang of it -- learning how to control themselves, how to glide. Branching at first, moving from one high point to another, slightly lower one. Well, he had an advantage here, right? He seemed to be an adult bird, which meant he had all the muscles necessary. He was in a second-floor dorm, so he would have a good drop to fall when he first leapt from the window. Adding on to that: he _knew_ that he needed to flap. He wasn’t a clueless baby bird, even if there wasn’t much in the way of instincts. Wings open, tail feathers good to go.

Challenge number one: get up to the window. Plenty of people dreamed to be able to fly one day, and all he had to do was get there to live it. God, this was immature, but he was so giddy at the idea.

He flapped! And...nothing. Disappointing.

He tried again, flapping harder, before pausing. He’d figure this out. Just had to…

He crouched down low before launching himself into the air with what was likely the best hop yet, flapping his wings downwards and throwing himself upwards. Yes, yes! He was unstable in the air and flung forward, crashing with a _thunk_ against the windowsill. He had done it! Stretching his neck, he reached upwards to undo the latch. This was how the hawk had gotten out of his room, surely. He could do the same. Stooping back down, he got a good grip on the lower lip of the window frame, pushing it upwards. He has to stop halfway through to readjust -- his...beak? Was already getting sore. Deciding that it was already enough to squeeze through, he wriggled underneath.

The cold air hitting him in the face, ruffling his feathers and gathering under his wings was enough to snap him out of his delusions. He hadn’t felt so high up at 6 feet tall and 3 inches, but as a bird that didn’t even measure two feet tall? This was a drop three times as high!

 _Yes,_ he reminded himself, _but now you have wings. That’s not the same_.

Below him were the same streetlights that there always had been, familiar trees and unfamiliar snow. What struck him as odd was the scenery -- it was as though he had been hit with a night-vision potion from a video game. He could see _everything_ in the “darkness”, hear the smallest noises. Instead of darkness outside of the building’s light, it was simply a continuation of the day. Plenty of light for him to see with; he’d be fine.

He spread his wings and pushed away from the windowsill, flapping like mad as he fell downwards. Come on, get some lift! Go somewhere! Glide!

To his amazement, that worked. He wasn’t exactly sustaining it, but he didn’t fall straight down either, managing to glide several feet away and even get a bit of a boost. Flapping like mad wasn’t the perfect answer; he had to give it power and really “catch” the air beneath him. He could _feel_ the breeze on his wingtips, the air thick like water when swimming, something he could push through and beat against. Stretching out his talons, he landed with a thud in the slush, but not a harmful one. He had jumped...and he had survived!

Bolstered on by his success, he took a breath, pushed off the ground, and tried again.

* * *

 

The wind caught beneath his wings. It was strong, it was living, it was breathing. He cried out in pure glee, an owl’s screech filling his ears instead of words. Yes, yes! He was doing it! He dipped one wing below the other and banked leftwards, swooping around the building. Then, tail downwards, and he was soaring up into the sky, stars around him. He was flying!

To think he had almost missed this, had he chosen to donate the coat, or not try it on the way he did. To think of how many similar chances he had already passed up.

He had never felt more free. Living in Virginia, trees always crept over the sky, always made him feel so small, but now! He was floating up into the darkness, swimming through a sea of stars. Every wing beat was labored, each breath of his own accord, but it was a small price to pay to be set loose of the Earth below, alone in the open sky.

Then, a gust of wind hit him and he spiraled to the side, flapping to try and make up for the sudden change of course -- but the wind proved too much and he ended up rolling in the snow, laughing all the while in a husky, breathy tone. God! Maybe he was going to have to repent on that whole “burning the cloak” thing.

An owl’s laugh wasn’t much like a human’s, but it was fitting, laying backwards in the snow. This felt so good.

A few flakes of snow fell from above and he whined, shaking his head off. It wasn’t snowing anymore, where did that come from? His feathers laid flat in fear as he scrambled back up, ready to take flight if needed.

< _Damn, you figured out flying pretty fast. Only took you like three hours to get off the ground._ >

Thomas squawked out a cry, hopping backwards...before finally looking back upwards to where the snow came. And above him sat the hawk, swaying gently on a snow-covered tree branch, occasionally knocking small powdery white clumps down to the ground. Trying to reply, he opened his beak to answer, but only managed an incomprehensible croak. The hawk shook their head in disappointment. < _Yeah, pal, that’s not how you talk._ >

Annoyed, Thomas tried again with a strangled hiss. Seemingly rather amused, the hawk leaned forward. < _Please, you can do better than that. If you’ve found your focus, surely you can learn a bit of...focus...too? Use it and talk to me._ > Goddammit, Thomas still had no idea what was up with all this focus bullcrap! His father’s notebook was helpful, but wasn’t a catch-all. He could hear the hawk’s voice in his ears -- it was masculine, but unplaceable. He would’ve thought they’d be a little nicer considering he saved their life! The hawk shifted on the branch, dumping a bit more snow down on Thomas.

That was enough! < _Would you stop it!?_ > Thomas snapped in his head, frustrated. < _As it is I have no idea what the hell I’m doing! Or how to use fucking telepathy!_ >

Light laughter filled his thoughts -- from the hawk. < _I think you just did._ > Then, they turned their gaze to stare up at the moon. < _But I personally have class tomorrow, and I know you do too, so I’ve gotta fly. See ya tomorrow, Tommy. If you can figure out how to change back, that is. Just remember,_ > they winked, < _you’re only wearing a coat._ > They shuffled their wings, slowly drawing them open. < _Anyway, enjoy your first night. Don’t stay out too late, owl boy._ >

While Thomas was reeling from the out-of-nowhere nickname, the hawk took off from the branch and disappeared into the night.

* * *

 

By some stroke of luck, he had managed to shift back into a human. The hawk’s advice had been true -- in the end, he had reached up to his neck with a bird’s feathers, trying to remember that he was simply a human using their hands to pull a cloak back from over their eyes. Like magic, the feathers had returned to cloth and Thomas was normal again.

Afterwards, he promptly collapsed into bed. He had shut his window once more, but the room remained cold.

The next morning, he felt like crap. Probably should’ve listened to _that_ piece of advice and not stay out so late, but what could a guy do? Flying was...incredible, and he was already itching to return to his bird form. At least, he would be, if he weren’t so exhausted.

He slept in a bit longer than he should have, snoozing his alarm a few too many times. When he finally woke up, it was the spike of adrenaline associated with being late to class that got him on his feet, yanking on passable clothes, grabbing his laptop bag, and running across campus. He slipped into class moments before it technically began, the professor -- a slightly older man from the UK with an undercut and side-swept hair -- giving him an odd look but choosing not to comment. Jogging up the stairs in the lecture hall, he sat down just as ornithology class was due to begin.

Heh, he supposed he _had_ to pay attention, now that some of what he learned would come in handy. He moved to set up his laptop, pausing when he saw a small slip of paper delicately placed in the center of his desk. Considering he sat in the same place every day, it wouldn’t be too unbelievable to assume that someone wanting to contact him would leave a note there. But who…?

He shot a glance to his left where Alexander Hamilton sat. Nudging the guy’s leg with his foot, he whispered, “Did you leave this…?”

In reply, he received a tiny snore. Oh. Alexander was asleep. Grimacing, he turned away and opened his laptop, clicking it on. While it was booting up, he unfolded the slip of paper to read its contents.

> _Looks like you had a fun night. You clearly managed to transform back, not to manage figuring out how to speak. So...good for you! Anyway. Meet me outside your dorm at 10 PM tonight. Go ahead and shift if you’re ready, it’s something that only improves with practice. Don’t expect to learn everything in one night. You’re about to get involved in something a lot bigger than you know, bud._
> 
> _See you tonight!_
> 
> _-The Red-Tailed Hawk_

Thomas reread the note a few more times, finally folding it back up and slipping it into his coat pocket. Alexander was still asleep, and honestly, Thomas considered joining him. The professor was speaking in the background, and he really ought to pay attention, but…

What was he getting himself into?

His gaze wandered beneath the table where Alexander’s bag lay. He had no intentions to go through it, but he could see the top was unzipped. Slowly, he nudged at the side of the bag with his foot, freezing when he saw the younger student shift. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to wake up, and Thomas managed to pull the bag over -- and as expected, he could see the cloth of Alexander’s cloak drape from the side.

One of the only days that the guy was in class on time, and he was asleep. Was it really a coincidence that...well, Alexander needed to borrow notes from Thomas, and Thomas joked that Alexander would have to break into his room to get them. He finds a hawk trying to break in through the window, and when it flies away, he finds Alexander instead wearing a cloak -- the same one he carries around day after day. A cloak, just as Thomas had a coat of his own that allowed him to transform into a bird. Alexander, somehow involved in all of this, and always out late at night when he could fly in peace -- hence why he was always falling asleep in class.

He turned his attention back to his professor as the man attempted to open up a powerpoint. Sighing, Thomas dropped his head down on one palm. _Don’t fall asleep, idiot._ He glanced back at Alexander, curiosity burning within him. Asking the younger student wasn’t even a question, it was a fact. It lined up too perfectly; Alexander had to be the hawk, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just tell that to Thomas, especially now that he knew Thomas had…magic stuff? He understood they weren’t friends by any stretch, but “the hawk” had already planned on meeting Thomas that night. On the other hand, he had provoked Thomas last night, but on the other-other hand, he had only done that so Thomas would figure out how to speak using his thoughts like the hawk did.

Frustrated, he decided that he would confront Alexander after class was over. That was probably the best way to take care of this, so he could drag the other dude off to a less public location before they got into anything sensitive. Feeling a bit guilty that he was planning on cornering the freshman right after class, Thomas kicked Alexander’s leg to wake him up so he wouldn’t miss even _more_ notes -- Alexander swallowing back a yelp and sitting up in an instant, rubbing his eyes. Thomas returned to his own work, staunchly refusing to look at him lest Alexander get any ideas.

After class, Thomas packed up his laptop and began to ask Alexander about staying after. But, before he could, the younger man had scooped up his belongings and made a break for it, dashing down the steps and heading out.

Thomas groaned, heaving his laptop bag over his shoulder. Guess he’d have to wait until tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited to write the next chapter, haha.
> 
> Thomas isn't stupid. Now that he's seen magic for himself, he can only deny it so much, especially when all the pieces fit together; the conclusion he came to regarding Alexander was really one of the only ones that made any sense. He also isn't sure what to make of this whole situation, but he's gotten the impression he can't really back out.


	8. A Sudden Leap

At 9:50, ten minutes before the hawk (Alex?) had told him to be ready, Thomas checked that his dorm room door was locked before heading into the bathroom, cloak in hand. Based on the other night, he had gone ahead and opened the window before shapeshifting. As a side thought, he moved his desk chair below the frame too, so that he could hop right on up. In the bathroom, he stripped once more and swept the coat around him, feeling the odd sensation of fabric and feathers united as one sticking close to his skin. If he was right, and Alex _was_ the hawk, then he would have to ask about shapeshifting while wearing clothes; the first night he had seen the hawk outside of his dorm room and startled it, only a few seconds later he had found a dizzy and disoriented Alexander in a cloak of his own and at least partial clothing.

He pulled the hood over his eyes. While he still stumbled from the sudden vertigo of shrinking to less than two feet tall, unlike the other night he didn’t fall, having expected it.

Once outside, he at first set a personal goal to get to the top of his dorm building. He still had a few minutes before Alex showed up, and knowing the guy, he was more likely to be running late than early. More comfortably than the previous night, he spread his wings and pushed away from the window, now trusting his wings to keep him from dropping like a stone. The initial fall away from a safe haven was weightless, floating as the world rushed by around him, and then wings spread he all at once felt the wind yanking him back into flight. Pushing himself upwards, he managed to barely clear the retaining wall around the roof, tail feathers narrowly missing scraping at the concrete. Every wing beat was heavy, throwing himself up and then swooping down. Weightlessness, then the weight of the world on his shoulders. Rinse and repeat.

He managed to get some height over the dorm buildings, watching them dwindle in size beneath him. While he had no way to exactly tell how fast he was going, the wind on his face and beneath his wings left him feeling as though he were gliding _fast_ , slipping through the sheets of the sky. In the uninterrupted purity of the night, he quickly found each sense perking up, stronger than ever before. It was dark, yes, but he could distinguish every branch of each tree in the forest surrounding campus. He could make no mistake that it was nighttime, but it _felt_ more like the day, a discolored impression of familiar yellow sunlight. Every little sound was amplified, from the students chatting in their dorm rooms to the tiny mammals scrounging for food now that the snow from the other night was nearly all melted. In fact, if he weren’t so squeamish...he could figure out what these _talons_ could do.

Spreading his wings to glide for a moment and rest his muscles, he flew towards the academic buildings, most of their lights shut off as the professors and TAs had already gone home. It didn’t appear that the building was technically “closed,” but it was certainly abandoned for the most part in the late hour. Beating his wings against his velocity, he slowed his descent and lightly landed on the roof, stumbling and tripping into a pile of cardboard boxes, soggy and falling apart from the melted snow. Groaning, he squirmed to stand up, still not used to having two wings in the place of hands. Shaking any water and slush from himself, he was about to take off once more when his newly acute hearing picked up the sound of two people arguing. Footsteps thudded heavily up to the stairs; Thomas jumped back into the shelter of the damp boxes when the door to the rooftop access slammed open.

“I’m doing what I was told to do, we’re working at a good pace. He’s smart and _wants_ to do this of his own accord, too, so get off my back!” Alexander came into his view, clearly steaming. He was poorly dressed, his cloak slung over his shoulders, the same tight t-shirt as before on his arms but tight leggings replacing the biker shorts from before. He had no socks, but wore poorly-fitting tennis shoes on his feet. Despite his change in attire, he was still shivering badly in the March chill, leading Thomas to once again wonder where Alex was from if he had so many problems with the temperature.

An older man, a professor by the looks of it, walked out after Alexander. His expression was firm, but not enraged. “I said that I believed Thomas was one of us, and I was correct-”

“Great, yeah, of course you were correct,” Alexander ranted, throwing his hands up in the air. His cloak billowed away from his shoulders and he winced and curled in on himself, wrapping it tighter around him. “You’re always right, _Mr. Washington_ , thanks for pointing that out, _I get it_ -”

“Alexander!” the man -- Washington, the same one Alexander and his friends had always eluded to? -- snapped, leaning forward to tower over the relatively shorter Alex, who only shrunk down further. “Now that Thomas has found his focus and learned that magic exists, we must take things slow so as to not overwhelm him. We need- _I_ need- to introduce myself properly, explain a few things, introduce him to those of us who have found our powers so that he is not alone.”

Alexander had backed away from Washington as he spoke, resolutely staring anywhere but towards the man he was in conversation with. Each footstep was slow and regretful, dragging his shoes against the hard rooftop. “Thomas was already panicking after that monster attacked him. I don’t want to freak him out any further.” Not freak him out any further...that meant there were more of whatever he had run into. Meant that they were a real threat. Anxiety blooming in his chest, Thomas crouched lower, trying to make himself as small as possible. In contrast, Alexander straightened his back, jaw set and shoulders squared. All at once, the wind caught at his hair, whipping it around over his face and making him shake his head and sputter. “ _You_ forced me into this because you thought my powers were the best for the task. That’s why I’m in that _fucking_ ornithology class in the first place, to keep an eye on him! Y-yeah,” he continued, voice cracking, “I’m sometimes a little irresponsible with my magic, but what I do with it on my own time is none of your concern! And now that Thomas has shown the same affinity to shapeshifting as I have? It’s even more important that I teach him to use it!”

Thomas almost snorted with the knowledge that Alex had “taught” him how to communicate in bird form simply by riling himself up until he managed to figure out a way to snap at the hawk. But more importantly: it seemed that this was the confirmation he had been waiting for. Alexander was a shapeshifter. Alexander...was the hawk. That realization, and the heavy mood of the scene, kept him from true amusement.

And Alexander continued off on his tirade. “This was my assignment, why can’t I just do it!? I don’t need you butting in, especially if you don’t think I’m good enough to handle it.” Creeping forward out of the shadows, Thomas still couldn’t catch Alexander’s face, but he could now see Washington’s. He watched as the man’s expression darkened with annoyance but more than anything else appeared...tired, Alexander blabbing all the while. “I know that I’m ‘just’ a shapeshifter. And I get that I’m the youngest in our little posse, but I think I can handle having a little independence now and then and being trusted to do what I said I’d do!” Heh, he knew that feeling...

Washington crossed his arms, shooting him a look that left Alexander with his head still raised defiantly, but one foot twitching and scraping at the rooftop in nervousness. He had tugged his cloak down around himself, the fabric sticking to his skin and fitting his form just as Thomas’ coat had done before he shifted. Washington stated, “It is _not_ that you are weak. I’ve never implied you to be so. But I’ve also seen how self-destructive and blasé you can be when it comes to throwing yourself into harm’s way, especially when your reaction to negative feedback is to go and _continue doing exactly as you already were_. If taking some weight off your shoulders helps you focus on your own health more -- just because John mostly healed that chest injury doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, and you’re still exhausted -- is what I need to do, then so be it.”

“Maybe this is _how_ I help myself!” Alexander cried in response, not even attempting to be quiet or subtle, assuming only Washington and the stars were privy to their conversation. Then, his tone weakened, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe I need an escape now and again. And...and this is how I get it...” With his head low, his hair fell over his face like a curtain, sweeping and tugging aside in the breeze.

They stood in silence for several long seconds, Thomas tipping his head in concern. He could hear a steady _drip drip drip_ from behind him as water dribbled from the rooftop down the gutter pipe, a distant hum of a car heading into town.

Then Washington groaned, a pitying, sympathetic look flashing over his features. He reached one arm out to extend a hand to Alexander, trying to tug him back into reality. “And maybe I care about your wellbeing, son...”

What had shifted into a slow, somber mood lit only by the milky-white light of the moon turned from cool to heated once more. Alexander’s cloak seemed to come to life, the feathers on his shoulders puffing up as he twisted around to glare at Washington, nose scrunched up in anger. “Don’t. Call me. Son!” he hissed, muscles tensed and quivering. Thomas leapt back in fear, unbalanced and scrambling to remain upright with his wings, lacking hands to throw into the ground and root him in place. Alexander gripped hard at his upper arms, fingernails digging into the fabric of his cloak. “ _Stop saying that!_ You are _not_ my father and you will never replace the one I had!”

Washington winced, still reaching out -- physically and metaphorically, regret flashing in his eyes. “Son, I didn’t mean that-” He paused mid-sentence, allowing his head to fall into his hands in frustration as he realized he had only done it again. “God, I-”

Storming past him to grip at the low retaining wall around the building’s roof, Alexander bristled. “Maybe my dad wasn’t the best guy, got fucked over by life and chose to run away instead of dealing with it.” He turned away from staring down at the ground below to catch the sky in his gaze. “...Lord knows I inherited that trait to an extent.” Then, his tone hardened, the stiff coals from before returning. “I came here because I wanted to start a new life. That doesn’t mean I came here to be bossed around. Yeah, I’m loyal to our cause, and it’s definitely given me something to think about. I’d die for it.” He shuddered, words catching painfully in his throat. “I nearly have…But-” he arched his back, twisting his head to be sure Washington was looking at him. “That does not mean I _don’t_ have a family.” His gaze was softer than before. Was he responding to Washington’s plea?

Thomas could see the way Washington tried to hide his surprise, straightening up, holding back a smile to know that despite everything that he said, Alexander still thought of them as family. Then, that small point of light was extinguished as Alexander continued, his voice hoarse, raw, and aching, “I have family in the  _Caribbean_ , I have- I have my cousins and everyone where my dad’s from. And my dad- my dad is still alive! And he’s going to come back one day, I know it! I’m not your kid, Mr. Washington. You know, John’s probably never gonna get into contact with his family again. Hell, Lafayette’s parents are dead! Everyone in this fucking parade of wackos seems to have daddy issues, and it’s great that you’ve taken them in! But I’ve got a _chance_ that my father will come back one day. I get that you care about me, and all. That’s really kind of you. But I’m also not another sob-story pity case you took in off the streets; I’m here because I’m useful, and when my use runs out, I’ll be thrown _right_ back out again! That’s all there is to it, and _we both know it!”_

He tore a horrible, heart-wrenching cry from his throat and threw himself over the edge, the wind catching at his cloak and spilling it tight over his skinny form. And then, it was sticking to his arms, pulling it over the skin-tight clothing that had covered him while out on the roof. He threw his arms open wide, cloth billowing open and in the same breath twisting and breaking apart and snipping into individual feathers. He yanked his own hood down over his eyes and fully shifted and shrunk into a red-tailed hawk, plummeting down towards the ground, his tennis shoes slipping from his talons. And yet in one smooth motion, he spread his claws and snapped his shoes, beating hard to carry them along with him as he flew back towards the dorms where he and Thomas _should_ have met up. As Alexander beat hard to launch himself higher in the sky, Thomas saw a single tear illuminated by glistening moonlight sparkle for a moment before falling to the ground in a stark reminder of what Thomas had seen the other day: a dark, silhouetted figure leaping from a rooftop and disappearing before they could hit the ground. It had been Alex.

Washington sighed, head hung low in defeat. After a short pause, he allowed his head to once again fall into his hands. “All I’ve done and he still thinks this way after so long...”

Thomas’ chest ached as he realizes he understood Alexander’s struggle, in a way. His father really was dead, yes, but that same event had ruined his relationship with his mother, leaving them distant and hardly ever speaking. What was different between them, however, was that Alexander still had hope. And that was something that Thomas could respect him for -- having the hope that one day he could mend a broken relationship, because Thomas wasn’t so sure he’d ever get along well enough with his mother ever again.

That’s what it all came down to, wasn’t it? Alexander, and Thomas -- and several other students all wrapped up in this crazy plot -- were all hurting in different ways, and they were trying damn well to keep it together. Especially while, as it seemed, they were faced with monsters and magic and the unknown. Or maybe it wasn’t so much the unknown, to them. Thomas knew he had a long way to go before he understood it all, and had a feeling that it was up to him to take the next step -- look over the contents of the flashdrive, read the journal, and talk to Alex.

A gentle breeze brushed over the rooftop, Thomas able to hear the gentle cracking of tired tree limbs shaking in the cold night air. The wind tugged at his feathers, trying to pull him back into the sky and back to meet Alexander, but he remained forced to the ground. Should he come out of hiding? Wait for the professor to head back inside? But finally, Washington allowed his head to tip back, eyes tired, and turned to catch Thomas in his gaze. He didn’t appear surprised; instead, he gave the owl a knowing look. “Well, Thomas? He said you’d be learning tonight. You’d best chase after him. Get your education in.” Thomas could see where the older man was trying to hide his own grief, remain strong and solid, but his tone was drained and lacking. He was hurt, too, and still wanted the best for everyone involved.

Shaking open his wings, Thomas gulped. < _Right away...sir._ > He wasn’t quite sure why he added the honorific, but it felt right, and was polite, if nothing else. Washington barely forced a smile, and Thomas threw himself into the air, pumping his wings hard and fast to chase after the hawk who had already disappeared from view.

* * *

 

When he reached the dorms and nearly collapsed more so than landed on the roof of his own building, he was breathing hard and shuddering. He could fly, but he still needed to build up a little stamina.

< _You’re late,_ > the hawk -- Alexander -- flatly stated. If they had been human, Thomas didn’t doubt that the other’s voice would have been hoarse with tears -- as it was, the feathers around his eyes were damp. Whether that was because a human in bird form could cry, or they were residue from before he transformed, Thomas couldn’t tell; he merely shifted on his talons, shrugging. A pair of shoes were stuffed at the edge of the rooftop; he ignored them, knowing they were Alex’s.

< _Sorry..._ > Thomas trailed off, attempting to sound nonchalant. < _I tried to be on time, but I’m still new to this and wanted to practice a bit of flying and...got carried away?_ > It wasn’t the best response he could muster up, but it was enough to cause Alexander’s frustrated bristle to be reduced to an exhausted acknowledgement. Trying desperately to be tactful, he stepped a bit closer to the hawk, who had huddled down against the concrete to guard from the wind. < _Are...are you okay?_ > He didn’t let on that he knew Alexander was the hawk, assuming that he would share in his own time. He didn’t mention the scene he had just sat through, watching a tense argument finally chip away and break Alexander’s emotional defenses. He didn’t mention that he now knew that Alexander was from a broken home in the Caribbean -- explaining his difficulties with the weather and his gentle accent, different from Thomas’ own. Instead, he simply extended a hand -- er, well, wing -- for support. He didn’t know Alexander well, and by no means did he think of the guy as a friend, but if Thomas was now trapped in an unforgiving new world with Alex as his only guide, he was going to at least refrain from ruining their newfound relationship in poor taste.

Alex shifted slightly and then buried his head under his wing. < _I had a bad night and...would rather not talk about it. Some family troubles._ > Family troubles. Maybe there was a bit of care between Alexander and the others after all.

As if trying to sweep what had occurred only minutes before under the rug, the hawk fluffed up and stretched with an air of forced confidence. < _Nothing that should affect us here._ > He tipped his head to the side, eyeing Thomas. < _Good to say you’ve at least got the basics of flying down. You can go up, down, and maybe even turn a little. We’ll have until the leaves come in for flying to be bare branches only._ >

Until the leaves come in. That was less than a month away -- mid to late April. He had less than a month before flying would get a helluva lot harder. < _So you’ll be teaching me?_ >

The hawk scoffed, eyes smiling. < _I’ll do what I can, but I can’t see in the dark like you, so I’m a bit limited in where I can fly. And let’s try not to get me killed, yeah?_ > While when speaking in his hawk form the voice in his head didn’t sound quite like Alexander, Thomas could still hear familiar inflections and emotions in each word; the guy was shaky, barely holding it together.

Thomas sighed. Well, if nothing else, he could provide a distraction. Better for this impromptu late night education in any case. < _Yeah. But I...do you think maybe tonight we could just...talk? Get some answers and introductions out of the way. I know...I got all dressed up, but I’d rather get a few questioned figured out. Don’t wanna stay out too late on a school night, y’know how it is..._ >

Alexander looked up at the sky, moonlight illuminating the area. < _You need to get into the rhythm of flying. But..._ > he wilted slightly. < _I wouldn’t mind the distraction. Walk and talk? Er, flap and...chat…?_ > Fly off above their tiny home cut-out from the endless forests covering the Virginia piedmont, Thomas looking for answers and to help and Alexander going on and on as he always did, always with something to add, never able to shut up unless, as he had done earlier, he physically threw himself away into silence and isolation.

It had worked. Thomas nodded, and they took off into the sky -- Alexander slipping into the air in one smooth motion and Thomas shoving himself away from the cold concrete of the roof, frantically flapping to keep up.

He wasn’t really sure why he cared about anyone here; surely if he really had burned his coat and said to hell with it all, he could walk out of this unscathed. Surely the shadow monster was a one-time deal. But as he beat his way into the air, rushing after another bird shapeshifter flying through the sky, he felt an oddly familiar buzz in his chest. Déjà vu, the stirrings of memories long since forgotten.

Alexander was an enigma, and Thomas’ life was in no way boring. He was ready to finally learn of this world and what he could do with it. He was ready to learn who the others were, what they were capable of. What they were up to, and why they cared so much.

Thinking it felt silly, but he was ready to be apart of something greater, whether it be fixing a rough relationship and coming to an uneasy dynamic with someone he only vaguely knew from ornithology class or whether it be discovering the truth behind all his father and sister had done before an untimely death.

< _Hurry up, slowpoke,_ > the hawk teased. < _Isn’t the night your element?_ >

As he huffed and puffed to keep up, he could only reply, < _Sure don’t feel like it._ >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas isn't ignoring what he wants to do -- he still wants to figure out what's going on, even if he's not exactly sure why he cares so much. Maybe it's because he's decided resisting something he's already a part of will only hurt him in the end, or maybe it's that odd feeling he's forgetting something...


	9. The First Dream

He could tell Alexander was still stressed, emotions dampened more than usual, but the hawk seemed to be pushing things aside for the moment. In fact, he seemed almost amused right then, watching Thomas struggle to keep pace with him -- the owl flapping hard, the hawk gliding relaxedly. Birds -- including Alexander -- made things seem so easy and natural, whereas he was becoming alarmingly aware of how far off the ground they currently were, even while his wingbeats felt natural and he felt assured he wouldn’t fall.

< _ So, _ > Thomas managed out, focusing more on continuing to flap than any individual word, < _ Um. Can I...get anything out of you now? _ > He chuckled weakly, only creating a scratchy, breathy noise in his owl form. < _ Flying is...great, and all, but to be honest I’m still pretty freaked out about that monster from the other day, let alone...what all is going on. And we have classes tomorrow, so we can’t exactly stay out here all night. _ >

Alexander slowly banked off to the side, Thomas twisting to follow. The hawk must have been able to tell that Thomas was already slowing down, as he jerked his head towards a thick, old tree that grew in the center of a grassy divider between a few buildings. < _ If you can manage to land on that, I’ll talk. Come on, chop chop! _ >

Thomas snorted, wanting to comment, but ultimately chose to beat his wings a few times more to get enough speed and then locked them open, trying to steady himself as he glided downwards towards the tree. He had seen birds do this before, and had managed to land himself. Find a good branch, swoop on in, talons snapped open and wings beating backwards…

Vaguely, he recalled something from his ornithology class on wing shapes. Apparently in birds like great horned owls, their wings were broader and shorter, leaving them maneuverable and in perfect control of each twist and turn, slipping between branches or into thin gaps and out the other side. Landing was hardly a problem.

He could do this.

He couldn’t do this!

Overshooting the branch he had been aiming for, he faltered, sputtering as he rammed into several thinner, twigy branches. Without leaves, visibility was high; the only one here to blame was himself. Shaking himself out of them, he managed to clamp onto another branch, wobbling and gripping tighter in a desperate attempt to remain upright, wings scrabbling as though he had forgotten he lacked hands. A few moments later, Alexander swooped down to lightly drop onto a branch above him, bouncing slightly but comfortably resting. He seemed to be holding back laughter, managing, < _ Hey, at least you didn’t end up upside down. That happened to me my first time trying to perch. _ >

Thomas shuffled his wings once more, the feathers now visibly scruffier than before his failure. < _ I try, _ > he weakly joked, turning his head to examine the edges of his wings. They looked okay enough, but not quite as nice as they had been. Was he supposed to preen his feathers in bird form? He didn’t even know how to do that. Or did they clean themselves back up every time he shapeshifted? He added those thoughts to his growing list of questions, mentally shuffling through his options before finally checking, < _ I landed, so I can finally talk, right? _ >

Alexander tipped his head, shifting from one foot to the other as if to laughingly say “ _ well... _ ” Thankfully for Thomas, he relented, nodding. < _ Go for it. _ >

Thomas tightened his grip on the branch, finding himself profoundly uncomfortable clinging to something that swayed with every brush of wind. He would’ve already been a bit worried reconsidering things as a human so high up, and even with wings, he didn’t feel like he was properly holding on. Forcing himself not to look down, he steadied his thoughts. < _ Honestly, can I just get a basic explanation as to what the  _ fuck _ is going on!? _ > He sifted through the past few days, trying not to give away that he knew exactly who Alexander really was. < _ I go walking in the woods and get attacked by a monster. Then you...blast it…? You were injured, so I took you back to my dorm room, but now you’re totally healed and things’re just peachy? Except now I’m a shapeshifter too! And now a goddamn hawk is showing up at my dorm every night telling me to do this and that, and I’m getting a feeling this isn’t just because he feels like it. _ > The further he went on, the more he began to realize how nuts the entire situation was. < _ I’m just..so confused... _ > He crouched a little lower against the branch, claws digging into the soft wood. It was a sweetgum tree; the outer bark was squishy and corky, easy to hold onto as some semblance of hope he wouldn’t fall any second now. < _ And I’m...a little scared, too. _ >

Alexander drooped, glancing down at his chest -- the feathers there were nearly unmarred, and with Thomas’ superior eyesight in the darkness, he could pick out a small line where feathers had yet to grow back in. The mark on his face from a few nights ago was still there, but had similarly returned to fresh, new skin. He wasn’t totally healed, but Thomas’ point still stood: no one could go from bleeding and unconscious to a faint memory of a wound in less than a week. < _ Right...I...look, dude. I’m sorry about all that. _ > Sorry in a sympathetic way, or an acknowledgement of guilt way? < _ It isn’t fair that before you even find your focus you’re being sucked into a fight with a monster. Should’ve been taken care of already too, so that you could spend your first nights really enjoying seeing what the world has to offer to an owl. But I guess you have me here to help you out, so things could be worse. _ >

Taken care of. Alexander had half-destroyed whatever that monster was -- was that his job? To attack them, and kill them? Was that why he was always showing up to class tired and beaten and dirty?

More importantly, was Thomas going to be the next on the front lines? He shifted in discomfort, suddenly feeling the chill of the night ear seeping through his feathers where they had previously been radiating head from his excursion. < _ Should I be worried? _ >

Alexander puffed up his chest. < _ Like I said, you have me here, AKA: no. Though, really... _ > He looked a bit uncomfortable, almost reaching out with one wing to brush at Thomas before pulling it back and tucking it back against his body. A breeze pulled through the branches, Thomas yelping and scrabbling to maintain his balance. Alexander deflated a bit at the other’s pathetic cry, looking off towards a more illuminated portion of the courtyard. < _ This is...a lot to take in. It was like that even for me, and I...well, I used my powers for a long time for my own reasons before I ever got involved. Couldn’t stay out of it all forever. So learning about this...this crazy world we can only begin to understand is kind of a shock, and I was assigned to help you out, so that’s what I’m gonna do. _ >

If only owls could roll their eyes, for Thomas’ eyes would’ve just about rolled out of his skull by that point. Not at the hawk’s comment on how difficult it was to adjust -- he was honestly more confused on that end than anything else. Really, how had Alexander made it to a tiny college in Virginia, of all places, in the first place? How had he stayed so far apart from everything else otherwise? In any case, Thomas’ lack of impressment was more related to the hawk’s throwaway tone. He,  _ Thomas _ , had been attacked by a monster and was now getting wrapped up in some crazy magic scheme he had had no idea even existed a week ago -- and he deserved some straightforward answers. So, he plainly stated as such: < _ Look, complain all you want, just answer my questions. First: the fuck is a focus? _ > His father’s notebook had explained that partially, but there was a second lingering question -- why his father hadn’t had one, nor his sister; why they thought he may lack one as well. Wasn’t this cloak proof of a focus?  _ His _ focus?

Alexander shook his wings open. < _ One question for every minute we fly. And yes, we’ll keep taking rests for your unfit ass. Come on, we need to get you comfortable with maneuvering. If I can do it in the dark when I can’t see, you can learn how to do it when you can. _ >

And so, they flew.

* * *

 

Alexander’s explanation of foci was simple enough, albeit less poetic than what his father had written on the subject. If someone was predisposed to a form of magic, they would find their focus one day, usually around the time puberty hit. They’d be going through some old boxes, or maybe browsing the shelves of an antique store, or hiking in the woods -- and then they’d find it: an object they were intrinsically drawn to, one that they held great power through but one that held great power over them as well. One that they had never seen before, that had simply shown up out of nowhere. An extension of their self, a way to focus what they had always been able to do. To Thomas’ surprise, Alexander had sheepishly even admitted that he himself was extremely protective over his cloak, and had a tendency to shapeshift whenever he had the chance to, sometimes solely to explore, get some exercise, or even just sleep. That had invoked images of a dorm room decorated with the swings and ladders people who owned parrots might have, but he hadn’t commented on it -- and not for a lack of interest; Alexander was happily taking on the mentor role in a sneering and tough manner, and Thomas was equally as ready to banter and sarcastically knock him down a few pegs. But really, he was more caught up with the concept of a focus -- Alexander was clearly attached to his own, treating it as more important than his own well-being. And sure, Thomas had only transformed twice, but he was starting to have doubts if he’d ever give up flying again, no matter the way it burned his shoulder muscles and left him gasping and pushing further and further. But to Alexander, it was something that was a part of him, inseparable from the moment he had first laid eyes on it, and he implied it was  _ supposed _ to be like that.

His father’s words rang truer by the minute, and now he was beginning to wonder what his next step would be -- to stay with Alexander, to try and seek out Washington…

No, he knew what he had to do next. He was going to find that flash drive, open up that notebook, and figure out what the hell his father and sister had done before their untimely deaths.

He didn’t question Alexander any further on foci. Instead, he tried to shift the topic in another direction.

< _ So... _ > he slowly began, keeping an eye out for any adverse reaction from the hawk. < _ If you’re a shapeshifter, like me... _ >

Alexander glanced down at Thomas, banking left. < _ The fact that we’re both shapeshifters doesn’t mean much. In theory it means we have something in common, I guess, but since most of us -- except for you, I guess -- find our foci so young, it’s sometimes hard to tell if we are as we are because of them or if we were always going to be this way, and they happen to reflect that. Although...uh, I mean, I’d assume it’s the same deal between the both of us. Like, I’m definitely a normal person, I had a full-time job and shit up until about a year ago since I’m here on a scholarship. Like I said I have a cloak, I can turn into a bird...same general deal, just in a different way. _ >

Thomas knew who the hawk was, but he still wanted Alexander to admit it aloud. < _ Nice to know you’re still a person and not, y’know, a magic hawk. _ >

The hawk let out a soft and breathy noise, nearly muffled by the flap of his wings; Thomas hadn’t quite figured out yet how to be as silent as owls were supposed to be, but in comparison Alexander seemed to be doing...whatever the flying equivalent to stomping was. Almost out of embarrassment, Alexander replied, < _ Um. Yeah, I am. I-I, uh, I’m gonna be straight with you though I say: I have a lot to explain. About how magic works, about how all of this works. But I will say that protecting you against that monster took a ton out of me, and I was basically a drowsy mess for the entirety of the next day. I promise I wasn’t trying to make things weird, and was just hoping I could rest up enough to power through the pain and get home with my injuries.. _ > He twirled slightly in the air. < _ Even if it’s all your fault for...y’know, saving my life. And being so damn comfortable. _ >

Thomas was  _ increasingly _ happy he couldn’t visibly blush as an owl, thinking back to how the hawk had snuggled against his side that night. He had thought it was a cute bird, not a sickly...he didn’t want to say friend, because they weren’t. They were a begrudging mentor-protege duo, for once the elder of the two being the more inexperienced. < _ No, I mean, are you...are you gonna tell me who you are? We have to actually meet each other at some point, right? And you already know who I am. Besides- _ > He was desperately hoping to reign in the emotion seeping into his mental voice. < _ I, uh, I figured that this is some kinda selkie “get a skin and turn into the animal” sort of deal, but I’m hoping to learn how to shapeshift with clothing on. For, uh, understandable reasons, I’d imagine. _ >

< _ Um. Just takes practice, and I definitely don’t want to get a good look at your bare ass, _ > Alexander replied, skirting around the first question. < _ Anyway, it’s late. Got stuff to do tomorrow. Hopefully that tired you out enough to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll...I’ll be in touch. _ >

Before Thomas could reply, Alexander tucked his wings close to his body and dove downwards -- and Thomas was hit with the sudden awe once more as he  _ saw _ how much he had yet to learn. This was a world with newfound monsters and magic, and Alexander had been apart of it for much longer than he had. Seeing the hawk dive low to the ground and then sweep his wings out in either direction, twirling effortlessly between the branches of the trees and creeping around a bend...all of it reminded him of what one day  _ he _ would be able to do.

He couldn’t help it. He was excited.

* * *

 

He collapsed quickly once he returned to his dorm room. Vaguely, he wondered if Alexander ever had any problems sleeping, and pushed himself until exhaustion to do so. On the other hand, it seemed more likely he was out flying simply because he wanted to -- and ended up sleeping in class as a result. It was still a miracle he was passing his classes, and well enough to maintain his scholarship, too.

Once he had shifted back, he tossed his coat in a bundle underneath his bed. Better to hide it than risk something stupid happening. Back in his bathroom, he fished around bleary-eyed for his boxers, yanking them back up over his hips and crawling into bed. The room had a slight chill to it once more, an effect of having to pull open the window to hop-climb in, but that only made him burrow deeper into his blankets, bunching them up at his chest and wrapping an arm around them. He slept better when he had something to hold, and from the excitement of the night, to his concerns of what Alexander was hiding and his argument with Washington, to fears of monsters, to blurry thoughts of homework and tests and projects, he fell into sleep.

When he next opened his eyes, it was in a dream.

Thomas had never been one to lucid dream, and this was no exception. He didn’t question where he was -- he couldn’t. He was simply here, and the time was now. He had always been here, and the time had always been now, and for someone who rarely dreamed in the first place, there wasn’t a thing to worry about.

He was walking through a forest, the ground oddly clear of underbrush. He could tell he was walking, but could hardly hear his own footsteps, muffled as the sounds were in his ears. In fact, they were the  _ only _ sound, a faint cracking and crushing as he passed over leaves underfoot. The entire area was backlit in a mocking representation of the washed out light he saw as an owl -- the ground black, the trees black, everything he passed through only a shadow on the foreground. A strange grey light guided him along, a misty fog among the trees. Above him, the sky seemed to be far away, scratchy and dark.

He reached a fence built from twisted wire, finding it weak underfoot when he attempted to climb it -- but could see nothing on the other side beyond more darkness. It felt almost oppressive, his eyes unable to focus. Some, more lucid part of his brain commented,  _ it’s just like that monster _ . But, caught in a dream as he was, he only shrugged the thought off and pulled away from the wire, the metal scraping at his palms. The fence created a wall to his enclosure, the odd sensation of being indoors meeting him, and he turned in another direction to walk beneath the trees above. Eventually, he met a path, only noticeable from a break in the leaves covering the ground.

Someone else stood in the center of the path, only a dark shape against the odd light, their figure blurred and foggy -- but when he reached out to touch them, he could feel the texture of their clothes, a fine and soft sweater, the wool compressing slightly under his fingers. The figure tipped their head, staring down at the touch, and after a moment motioned for Thomas to pass by.

As he began down the path, he could hear the  _ pop _ of a cap being pulled from a pen. Then, the rustle of papers. He turned to look, watching as they pulled a notebook from thin air.  _ His father’s notebook _ . They turned a few pages in and marked something on the lined pages, the nib scratching quietly against them. Satisfied, they glanced up to see him watching, and held the notebook out. Thomas reached over to take it, pausing a breath away, fingers hovering over the pages.

He looked up, saw the stars above. His element, were they not? Bright, flickering and shining, spots of paint against a black canvas.

And then, he looked closer -- and realized the canvas was white, shining through only as faint stars a million miles away, breaking past a black spider’s web of words. Hundreds, thousands, millions written upon one another, drowning out the light behind them. One sentence began halfway through another, crawling over each, neat and curly pen strokes drowning out all else.

Then he woke up, his alarm blaring in his ears, sun burning through the window, and a splitting headache ringing behind his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update on Fridays/Saturdays for the most part; this was on the later end as I've recently gone kinda crazy with art (did four art trades, accepted six new commissions, and am starting to make bases/references) and while that feels great, I don't have as much time to sit down and write. I've also conned my friend into letting me watch her play Portal 2 for the first time, which has been an absolute blast, albeit a time-consuming one.
> 
> In any case, here we go! More plot, more mysteries, and Thomas gets a bit figured out. Funny story, the weird dream Thomas has is actually based on one I had a few nights ago, where my cat got out and I was chasing him through the forest behind my house.
> 
> I think of a focus, in the feeling of attachment, like Jack Frost's staff in Rise of the Guardians -- where it never leaves his hand, and when it's broken, he feels pain and is powerless. Alexander is also in a position where his focus allows him to turn into something else, so even though he can't easily wear a cloak (Thomas' is closer to a coat than a cloak, Alex's is looser and more like hanging fabric) out in public, he keeps it on him -- and will transform whenever he gets the chance, as he's just as (if not more) comfortable in his hawk body than his human one. He spends a lot of time as a hawk; it's a part of who he is.


	10. The Explanation

Ornithology class met three times a week: Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. So, come Tuesday morning, Thomas dragged himself off to class with a bottle of water in hand -- not to drink from, but rather to dump on his head if he started falling asleep. Or, maybe on Alexander’s head, depending on how the guy was faring.

Each step was a struggle, but he managed to collapse in his chair and get to pulling out his laptop. He was beginning to feel the effects of late-night flights, a burning in his muscles and a twinge each time he flexed his back. He wasn’t quite sure of the logistics behind what carried over between his human form and his owl form, but he supposed he was at least getting a workout.

When Alexander came in, Thomas tried to act like he was  _ very studiously _ readying himself for the day, not that he was watching the younger man out of the corner of his eye all the while. He was...a little worried, to be perfectly frank. Alexander looked more exhausted than usual, if that was even possible, and Thomas could see his eyes were still faintly red from crying, bags under them darker than usual, slender fingers fiddling with the straps of his backpack as he walked to his usual seat. Had...had Alexander been up all night?

The other man collapsed into his seat, head lolling back for a long moment before rubbing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and setting his jaw -- all coupled with a resolute sigh, as if to tell himself that he had to present as normal in class, that this was all going to be fine. Thomas, on the other hand, was wondering whether or not he should offer up his water bottle for a good dunk to keep the guy awake. Tapping his fingers distractedly against the wood, he considered -- in person, Alexander was nowhere near as nice (albeit sarcastic) as he was in his hawk form. Whether that was because of anonymity, or just because he was more chill as a bird, Thomas didn’t know, but…

He cleared his throat, and when Alexander didn’t glance up, he lightly tapped his fingers on the table. That seemed to be enough, as the other student leapt nearly a foot in the air, giving him a wild-eyed look. “Thomas? Wha-what do you want?”

Thomas threw his hands up, trying to make it clear he wasn’t looking to fight. “I...just wanted to check that you were alright, you know. You’re acting weird.”

Alexander refused to meet his gaze. Flatly, he answered, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

* * *

 

That night, Thomas took care of any work he had due the following day before plopping down on his bed and feeling around for the little Altoids tin. Clicking it open, he shook the flash drive onto his palm. He left the little envelope that came with the box, intent on opening it later, and discarded the tin back to the depths of the storage space under his bed. Time for some answers.

He plugged the flash drive into his computer, the seconds seeming to drag out before his computer beeped and the device showed up in his file manager. Selecting the drive, he was surprised to see not only one but rather multiple  _ folders _ sitting in the window, each one meticulously labeled. He could see the pictures in some of the thumbnails, but they were too small to make any sense of. On a whim, he clicked on one labeled “Prog Pics TJ.”

And it was...himself. Some were videos, but most looked to be photos, taken years and years ago. They had that sort of poor resolution that invoked memories of handheld video cameras with long cables brought out on Christmas, and confused, Thomas scrolled down the page. There must have been hundreds, several near-duplicates, but most unique. More importantly, from what he could tell, they mostly seemed to center around...well, himself as a little kid. Heart panging, he reminded himself that this was his dad’s old flash drive. Of course it would have Thomas’ pictures on it. He just...was hoping for something a little more related to what he was looking to find.

Not bothering to look through any individual photos, he clicked back to the main drive and chose another folder labeled “Scans.” Inside was another photo album, this one lacking videos, but instead looking to be...a digital copy of his father’s notebook. Good to have, but not exactly anything that was going to further his understanding of  _ anything _ here.

Back to the start. Folder number three, this one titled “Spreadsheets.” True to its name, this folder lacked any photos, but instead seemed to only have Excel and text documents. He frowned, realizing that his computer didn’t even have Excel installed, but he could probably open them in another program. Selecting one of the text documents, he opened it up in Notepad, glancing over the contents and finding himself increasing frustrated. It was a fucking  _ list of books _ . He vaguely recognized them as the ones that he’d donated to the antique shop, except for the two he’d chosen to keep.

He wanted to slam his forehead into the keyboard. This wasn’t helping him at all! He knew that not everything belonging to his father would be important, but dammit, if it was just a bunch of useless crap, why did his dad leave it to his sister in the first place!? Frustrated, he dragged his fingers over his face, finally groaning and collapsing onto his desk. God, life seemed out to get him. Kill off half his family, ruin his childhood, and now -- finally off on his own! -- he was getting attacked by shadow demons and-

< _ Oi! I can’t hover out here forever, you know! _ >

Thomas jumped to his feet, rushing over to the window. True to his word, Alexander was struggling to hang near the glass, and Thomas pushed it open. The hawk tumbled inside, shaking his head and fluffing up his feathers once he had landed. After a few moments, he flitted up to Thomas’ bed and began to preen himself. Thomas rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get your gross feathers all over my sheets.” The hawk didn’t seem to acknowledge him, so he sighed, flopping onto his bed. Alexander yelped as he bounced, but then took the chance to hop over to preen at Thomas’ hair. Swatting the hawk away, he grumbled, “Could you just turn back into a human? That’d make this conversation way less awkward.”

Alexander tipped his head, considering, before jumping onto Thomas’ chest. < _ No. _ >

Thomas groaned in reply, sitting up and scooping Alexander up under one elbow. Ignoring the other’s  _ very _ indignant squawk, he snapped, “Fine. Let’s just get going. Window’s still open and it’s fucking freezing in here.” Holding out his arms, he dropped Alex back onto the windowsill.

Almost smugly, the hawk snarked back, < _ Alright, alright. Glad to see some enthusiasm. Now, unless you’ve figured out how to shapeshift with clothing, strip down hot stuff and let’s head out. _ >

Ah, right. He had yet to practice that “clothing” bit. Face burning, he shot the hawk a glare and jogged into the bathroom, resisting the urge to slam the door. Half a minute later, he hopped back out an owl. The hawk stared down at him a bit too intensely for his liking and Thomas spat, < _ Fuck you _ .>

Alexander sniggered, and then they were off.

As always, despite the darkness around them, Alexander seemed to glide effortlessly as they flew. Thomas, conversely, remained clumsy, hardly able to stay aloft. Unlike previous nights where they had aimlessly circled the dorms, Alexander seemed to have a destination in mind, Thomas trailing after him. < _ So...we going somewhere? _ >

One benefit to having an owl form was the senses: he could clearly hear Alex’s sigh. < _ I guess. Not for long, though. Don’t wanna be out too late, what with classes and all that... _ >

Thomas knew the identity hiding beneath those brown and red feathers, but he couldn’t resist putting on an innocent facade and asking, < _ Oh, you’re a student too, then? Is there a  _ third _ magic bird-person here who taught you? _ >

Alex shot a look behind him, Thomas watching with round, wide eyes. The hawk seemed almost suspicious, but was unable to keep it together upon seeing Thomas’ expression, finally chuckling, < _ No. I mean, yes -- I’m a student. But, no to the whole other bird-person thing. Actually, you’re the only other shapeshifter I’ve ever met. Human shapeshifter, that is. Heh, nah, I’ve...I discovered my powers by accident when I was very young. I’ve just had more time than you to learn them. _ > Accident. He could only assume that meant Alex, like Thomas, had randomly thrown a cloak over his head and- < _ I mean, I guess it was the same with you, but it was still an accident in a way. Lowest point of my life, needed an escape, and one day I woke up with an unfightable urge in my chest to go somewhere, look for something. Dragged towards it on my knees, had to take it, was already in flight before I registered I wasn’t human. And God! _ > he laughed, < _ I felt more right and complete and true to myself than I had ever been before I found my focus. Sure you must’ve felt the same way too, right? _ >

Here it was again -- all that talk of a focus being a part of you, destinies intertwined, and feelings he had never experienced. < _ Oh, definitely _ ,> he stammered. < _ Uh, but- just to check...what happens if...if your focus is destroyed? Or if you lose it? _ >

Alexander’s rhythmic flaps missed a beat and he shuddered in his flight. < _ You don’t let it get to that. _ >

< _ What? Why? I mean- _ >

The hawk slowed his flight, drifting back to hover beside the other bird. < _ Listen, you don’t get it. A focus is- it’s an extension of your soul. It’s who you are. If it’s destroyed, that part of you is gone with it. And if it’s lost... _ > His eyes were distant, unfocused. < _ Whoever controls your focus controls  _ you _. They can torture you, force you to be their puppet on a string. It may not seem like it at first, but magic has a hefty price...and we can only hope that we never have to pay the bill. _ >

* * *

 

Their conversation had soured the initially-light tone of the night, and as they gently banked away from the main campus, Thomas scrambled for a new topic of conversation. He had so many questions he wanted answered, but wasn’t sure where to draw the line -- surely some of it would be answered in his father’s notebook, and while it hadn’t seemed to be too helpful, the flash drive and the envelope it came with were still options. Not only that, but he also didn’t want to reveal everything he knew -- or, at least, thought he knew -- right away. His (possible?) lack of a focus, his father’s death, mysterious connections, things left behind.

On the other hand, he still had plenty of other questions that he was certain couldn’t be answered by his dad’s notebook.

< _ How many other people like...us...are there? _ > Thomas asked, trying to gauge the hawk’s reaction.

< _ I dunno, world’s a big place after all- _ > Alexander began.

< _ Okay, okay, but, _ > Thomas backpedaled, < _ I mean here. Like, on campus. Five? Ten? A hundred? _ > The school was tiny as it was, so the last option remained a tad unbelievable, but he knew that John (an alchemist?), that foreign student Lafayette (able to find things?), and that other guy Hercules (how did he fit in?) were all at least aware of what was going on. Oh, and then Washington and the woman from the antique shop.

Alexander thought about his question, and Thomas could almost imagine the hawk using his talons to add numbers together. < _ So, me and you, that makes two. Then the other two, they’re married...and the others, so...eh, you weren’t far off, honestly, and you’ll meet them all pretty soon. No more than a dozen or so, and you’re the newest recruit -- and we’re the only shapeshifters. But it’s not like we have super limited powers, or anything...over time, everyone will find their extra abilities, the true extent of their magic. Shapeshifting isn’t  _ just _ turning into a single animal, after all. _ >

Thomas snorted. < _ Sounds good to me _ .> A dozen. One part of his mind helpfully supplied,  _ no wonder Alex is the one they chose to protect you _ . The other, more logical part, instead asked,  _ how did they know I had magic in the first place? _ Looking below him, he realized that with his night vision he could pick out the small gap in the trees where one of the trails around campus lead. Still having to consciously attempt each flap, he nearly fell out of the sky as he realized where they were: right beside the clearing he had been attacked at. < _ Why are we  _ here?>

< _ You’ll...get the full run-down later, but basically, we’re here to look around. You have night vision and I don’t, so I figured you might be useful. _ >

Slowing to a lazy spiral over the clearing, Thomas tipped his head, wondering if there was something he was missing. Even calling it a clearing was a bit too much, since it was still covered in trees, only with a slight open space created by a turn in the trail. That was where the monster had come from. < _ What exactly are we looking for…? _ >

< _ Anything out of the ordinary. Look, you should know that these things aren’t one-off deals. You can injure them temporarily, even make them disappear for a bit, but they’ll always return unless you can find what brought them here. Think of it like...the same sort of system that gives us our foci. This one was a goop monster, so I’d guess- _ >

Huh? < _ It wasn’t a goop monster, _ > Thomas interrupted. < _ It wasn’t anything, just a void in space. Whenever I tried to look at it, it was like...like watching TV, but my eyes had lost signal. _ >

< _ It didn’t do that for me, _ > Alexander countered, clearly confused. < _ But...I guess it was reacting weird since you hadn’t found your focus yet. That would make sense. _ >

Right. That’d make sense…

Shaking his head, Thomas caught himself in the breeze, slowing his glide for a few moments. It was strange how, on the trails below, the trees seemed so tall and twisted -- but from above, it was a sea of grey, wooden spines. From a bird’s eye view, the world was flat, and its bounds limitless. But, when he dropped beneath the tide of branches, he found himself realizing how strange the forest around him looked with night vision. He shuddered, thinking of that odd place he had dreamed about, not liking the similarities. Alexander landed on the leaves, letting out a squawk and nearly leaping right back into the air. < _ Ugh, it’s wet! And  _ cold!> Thomas, right behind him, couldn’t help but agree as he felt damp leaves squishing between his talons and catching on his toes. The hawk hopped between his feet, clearly unhappy as he made his way across the clearing.  _ Ah, right. He’s from somewhere down south, isn’t he? Probably has yet to get used to the cold, even if it is March. _

If he was understanding Alex correctly, a monster was tied to an object just like they (possibly excluding himself?) were. Well, that made things pretty simple, right? Find the object, do...something with it, and then problem solved! Easy enough, and he most certainly did  _ not _ want to encounter something like that again. While he was partially lacking color vision, he was able to get a fairly good look around the area, finding...nothing interesting. For the most part, their surroundings offered up damp leaves and moss, and honestly, Thomas just felt dumb hopping around as a bird. If nothing else, Alexander looked worse -- practically confirmed as he loudly announced, < _ Jesus fucking christ, my feet are cold! _ >

< _ You should get tiny hawk-socks, _ > Thomas helpfully suggested, reaching out with one wing to turn over a piece of bark before mentally kicking himself and attempting to use one talon instead. He couldn’t even turn back to help himself, primarily because human-him didn’t have night vision, but also because it was cold and he’d die of embarrassment tramping about the woods wearing nothing but an old cloak in front of Alex. Come to think of it, he  _ really _ needed to figure out how to shapeshift with clothing on, or else he’d have to get comfortable with his body awfully quick. 

Hopping around the clearing, he was beginning to realize that he really  _ wasn’t _ sure what he was expecting to find. It had snowed right before the monster attacked him, so unless there was literally a random object on the ground-

He squinted, eyeing an area off to the side of the clearing. Unlike the rest of the forest, properly illuminated despite the darkness, there seemed to be a patch on the leaves here that was darker than the others…

< _ Ngh-! _ > Stifling a hiss, he stumbled back, suddenly feeling frozen air on bare skin as he shifted back into a human. His head was throbbing and he fell to his knees, his cloak falling over his legs but growing damp from the cold ground.

< _ Thomas-! _ > Alexander cried, crossing the clearing in only a few wing beats and landing beside Thomas. His feathers were warm, heat still radiating off them from the excursion their flight over had been, and Thomas could only make out the raptor’s vague outline. Was Alex really this blind, too?

“S-sorry…” he grunted, rubbing at his temples. He could no longer make out that strange spot of darkness, indistinguishable from the others, and vaguely motioned towards it. “Just...musta hit a nerve, or somethin’...I thought I saw something there, though, if you wanted to check.”

Silence. Alex shifted, pressing closer against Thomas’ side -- a calming presence. < _ I can’t see much better in the dark than you can right now, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything there. Um...you know, it’s probably safer if I come back here alone come daylight, since I know what to look for. Let’s get you back to the dorm. _ >

Flushing, Thomas nodded, gathering his cloak about himself. Deep breaths, eyes scrunched shit with focus, and he shrunk into his bird form once more. As his vision adjusted, he hesitantly allowed his gaze to slide back towards the spot he had seen before -- and, of course, it was empty. Maybe what he really needed was some sleep. Alexander looked over to him, but now Thomas noticed the way his eyes were ever-so-slightly unfocused, not quite able to settle in on any of Thomas’ features. Turning his face to the sky, the hawk simply noted, < _ Should I be thankful or upset that I didn’t get to see your naked ass rolling on the ground with a migraine? _ >

Thomas considered, still trying to get his bearings about himself. < _ Depends on how gay you are. _ >

< _ I’m bi, so...I’d say a decent amount. _ > Oh. That made two, then. He wasn’t expecting that.

< _ Super upset, then, because you’re missing out, _ > Thomas joked. He even tried to throw in a wink before realizing Alexander probably wouldn’t be able to make it out anyway, although...that was probably for the best, at least considering how he was currently fighting between a wave of nausea and trying to contain his embarrassment at their situation. He was  _ sure _ there was something there -- he could rationalize that since Alex was blind in the darkness anyway, the hawk being unable to see it made sense, but him…?

Shaking his head to try and dispel the fuzzy feeling slinking around it, he spread his wings to follow after the hawk as the other took off. They met the night sky once more, Thomas shuddering as he felt the cold breeze pulling on his wet feathers and dragging him back down towards the forest. The more he flew, the more confident Thomas became, and the quieter his flaps grew. Alexander, meanwhile, seemed both wholly comfortable in the air and also unbearably loud to Thomas’ sensitive hearing. Trying to pull together the events of the past few days, Thomas finally broke their (nonexistent, in his opinion) silence by mumbling, < _ Hey, hawk-dude? _ >

< _ Yeah? _ >

< _ Um, one last question for tonight...that day in the clearing, when the monster attacked me... _ > He had so many questions to ask about that day. What even  _ was _ that thing? Was it after Thomas, or had he just gotten unlucky? Did it have anything to do with the sudden appearance of his powers? What was that burst of magic Alex had released on it? < _ If you don’t mind me asking...how did you know to come save me? _ > He could imagine that they were flying slower tonight so that Thomas, in his inexperience, could keep up -- however, it was still a ways from their dorms, and certainly some distance from the other parts of campus. Either he had gotten incredibly lucky, or something fishy was going on.

< _ Oh, well, _ > Alexander began, straightening his wings into a glide for several long moments. < _ I’m not really sure, to be honest. Intuition, mostly, like a weird feeling. And to be clear, I know I said that our magic isn’t really shapeshifting, that it’s only the first and main of a more general collective that we have to figure out on our own as we grow stronger -- but I definitely don’t have magic sensing powers in any way, shape, or form. That’s Laf’s job. _ > Thomas blinked, mind’s eye flashing back to the argument in the parking lot between the foreign exchange student and that other dude, John. Laf panicking, saying he couldn’t find Alex when he was stressed, that it messed with his focus.  _ So that’s what he meant. _ The hawk, meanwhile, continued on. < _ So, probably a weird coincidence, maybe luck. Although- _ > He chuckled weakly. < _ Uh, when I was a kid, my mom always said that weird dreams and feelings were the universe’s way of showing us our futures, helping to guide us down the right path. Can’t say how accurate that is, but...well, my last nightmare involved weird trees with fingers made out of shadows and slime that tried to drown me, so I’d guess not too accurate. Cool to think about, though, right? _ >

If Thomas had been human at the time, his brow would have furrowed. < _ I suppose so. _ >

Somehow, Alexander managed to shrug in mid-air, and they continued their flight back to the dorms in a heavy silence. When Thomas nudged the window pane open long enough to slip inside, he was surprised to hear Alexander softly comment, < _ One last thing. _ > Thomas’s talons tightened on the wooden boards of the windowsill, spinning his head around to stare right at the hawk.

< _ Yes? _ >

The hawk’s golden eyes glimmered with a strange sheen from the light of the lamps and the moon and the stars. Alex’s eyes were always brown as a human, yet here they seemed backlit with a yellow light that left them glowing like armor among fire...

 < _ Thomas...be careful. Please. Whatever attacked you is still out there, and I can guarantee it’s not alone. Humans believe they have tamed the Earth, but among us walk monsters that scratch at doors and drag the unsuspecting away. Other places have their dragons, their beasts, their fae...but here -- in Virginia -- you have strange beings that lurk in the woods, humans twisted by starvation and torture into desperate monsters, legends of unearthly creatures who wear your skin and steal the voice from your throat and the marrow from your bones should you utter their names. There are lights that will entice you to your doom, caverns that beg you to stay with them, cryptids hobbling down broken streets, and staircases winding to nowhere with every step bringing tragedy. Stay safe, because the world won’t even give us that much. And remember, I, uh...I’m here to protect you. Don’t go looking for trouble, and you’ll be alright. I won’t let anything happen to you. _ >

The hawk hovered for a few seconds outside his window before disappearing around the building, and after returning to his human form, Thomas reluctantly shut the pane. Then, he switched into boxers and brushed his teeth, finally crawling under his covers. Despite their relatively short excursion, he still found himself exhausted and was happy to collapse into his pillows.

As strange as this all was, at least -- assuming Alex stuck to his word -- he’d get to meet the others soon.

Better to focus on the upsides, too, rather than his growing sense of unease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander has strange dreams too. Exactly what sorts of powers does he really have, if shapeshifting isn't the only one?
> 
> Anyways. Oof, sorry for the disappearance over the summer! I'm happy to say I'm back and the plot will continue rolling. I'm happy to say that I've done a lot more brainstorming and have really figured out the way the story will continue from here, and we'll be back to regular updates. I'm especially motivated to keep working as...this story is becoming a book! Or at least, an original story. Not a good one, mind you, but it's an original story reconfigured with a new cast in high school (along with a number of other changes, but nothing worth mentioning here). It's a yearlong project for two independent study semesters. I might set up a side Tumblr blog to track the work I do for it, but we'll see, haha.


	11. A Memory

That night, Thomas had another dream. He was once again pulled into that strange forest of shadows and mist, similar to the first time, but this time it felt a little colder, duller. He walked along, losing himself in the darkness, hands thrown out before him to catch himself on the trees and bushes that, despite all likeliness, seemed to twist away from him only to catch and drag at his clothes. Finding the path was faster this time, following the fence -- the couldn’t be sure whether or not the layout of the forest itself had changed, but he trusted that the path would lead him where he needed to go.

The odd part of the forest was how it was always out of _focus_. Each time he tried to truly glimpse one of the shadowy appendages shooting skywards from the forest floor, his gaze would slip aside to the ground below or the darkness in the woods beyond. It wasn’t quite headache-inducing, but certainly left an odd feeling of static buzzing in the furthest reaches of his mind.

His footsteps crunched against the leaves, each step muffled as before. It was as though the normally varied ground had grown flat, a few damp leaves scattered about to disguise the scene as a forest. Left foot, _crunch_. Right foot _, crunch._

Right foot, _crunch_. Thomas jumped, instinctively looking to where the sound had originated -- locking eyes with the shadowed person from the other night. He hadn’t noticed them appear, had only just now realized their existence as they stood close to his right. This near, he could make out a few extra details -- they were smaller than he was, a little shorter, a healthily built but overall slender body-type. But, beside their vague silhouette, they gave nothing away.

“U-um, hey...” Thomas mumbled, at least acknowledging their presence. They nodded towards him, but offered no voice, so he continued, “Where are we going?” The figure didn’t seem to be dissuading him from the path he had chosen. They paused for a few moments before nodding down the path stretched before them, and Thomas groaned. “Alright, I guess.” Thus, he resumed his step, the other falling in behind him.

The path wound at a gentle curve, but it never seemed to dip or rise or twist more than a slight angle. Despite this, when he looked behind himself he could see the figure clearly outlined, but the greyscale woods shimmered as only a blur. The dark mist and wrong-sourced lighting was persistent, allowing Thomas enough illumination to see the path around him but never see further into the trees before or behind. Moonlight peeked in from above, but the further they walked, the thicker the trees wound themselves together overhead until the sky was blotted out with darkness.

Then, light a small campfire or a lantern in the night, a golden glow appeared out of the mist before him. Approaching a small clearing, Thomas paused in his steps, tipping his head in confusion. A small house seemed to form out of the ground and fog, low to the ground and almost wobbling on its stilts, straining to stay standing. A single window on the side was the source of the warm light, beating away the cold darkness of the clearing and replacing it with a homey glow. Small voices, soft and gentle, emanated from the depths of the structure. While the figure remained at the edges of the clearing, against his better judgement, Thomas stepped closer to the house. So far, it didn’t appear as though anything here could hurt him. He may as well see what was inside.

He raised his fist to knock on the wooden door -- but when he did just that, his hand went _through_ it. Gulping, he cast one final look to the figure before pressing his other hand to the intangible door, then forced the rest of his body through, nearly stumbling as he phased through it.

And inside, the world shifted to a completely different scene. The window to the right of the door was now, rather than being the source of golden light, was the recipient of yellowed sunshine -- and while Thomas was at first blinded by the sun, his eyes soon adjusted to catch a glimpse of the trees outside, a gentle slope leading down over other residential homes to a startlingly bright bay. The angle didn’t make it the best view, and they were crammed between other homes of an equally-shabby status, but it was still...warm, and pleasant. A thought jumped out at him -- how he had once complained to his sisters that they never traveled anywhere fun, and Jane had blown him off, snarking that while he didn’t remember their family trip to the Caribbean, she sure did. And _she_ had a great time, oh yes. Dad told her all about the mountain and the trees and the sand, and mom had taken her to the beach. Thomas was there for all of it, but remembered nothing; Mary claimed to have a few vague memories, but nothing clear.

Although, based on the people currently populating the small room, Thomas may have subconsciously recalled a little more than he thought.

The room was tiny, sporting a futon crammed against one wall and a short dresser or chest of some sort taking up another wall, spilling over with clothes and books and a hastily erected vase of flowers to regain some semblance of control over the household. A table in the center of the room creaked as two people sat down, chairs struggling to hold even the slight woman (let alone the larger man), leaving the room feeling cramped and compressed. Two doors on the last wall (save for the one taken by the door) seemed to lead to a bathroom and kitchen, propped open either for air circulation (it seemed dreadfully hot and humid here, in contrast to the cool dryness of the shadowy forest) or in a desperate attempt to make the house feel that much larger.

As the faces of the two figures formed in front of him, Thomas was shocked to see that one of the two was his _father_.

Even more surprising was the identity of the young boy struggling to crawl into his father’s lap, being sat back down on the ground and told to entertain himself. It was Thomas _himself_ , albeit younger, hardly over three or four years of age. His hair had been cropped short then, and the preschooler-aged version of himself wobbled on his feet and mumbled a vague complaint of the situation as a whole.

Thomas should have been entranced by seeing himself -- although it appeared that no one in the room could glimpse him in return -- but instead what caught his eye was his father. Thomas swallowed thickly, trying to push down his own emotions. He hadn’t seen his father in _years_ , hadn’t heard his voice in so long beyond what he imagined while reading the notebook, and here he was. Younger, more vibrant, less grizzled and tired. His _dad_.

Across him was a woman with long hair that draped over her face, loosely restrained behind her shoulder blades -- although strands seemed determined to hang free, and every few moments, she would readjust her stained dress and push her hair back with her free hand. Pale sandals were tied around her ankles, dress patched over and over again, and finally a shawl draped around her neck that began a deep brown and transitioned to brilliant orange. Her shoulders hung limp, a tired expression cast over her form, but what struck Thomas the most were her _eyes:_ the sort of amber that seemed to shine from within, a kind of polished gold that made it seem as though they were poured from the molten metal itself, nowhere near the worn appearance the rest of her body and home seemed to imply.

In her lap, she sat a young toddler with brown-black hair, although the child -- maybe one year of age, perhaps a little older -- had their eyes shut, comfortably sleeping in her arms. She adjusted her position to hold them better, leaning forwards to the table. Thomas’ younger self seemed distracted, dropping to the floor to play with a stray napkin that had drifted aside.

But in the present day, Thomas wasn’t distracted in the slightest.

“Thank you for having us, Ms. Faucette,” Thomas’ father calmly stated. It was an introduction, something to keep the air light. He held out one hand, but with the toddler, she declined. “Peter Jefferson, at your service. Call me whatever you’d like.”

She smiled, but only a faint curve graced her lips. “And you can call me Rachel. Ah, I hope you don’t mind my son- his older brother is out with their dad, but I need to keep an eye on this one. He won’t be too much trouble, though.”

“Likewise, my wife has the girls, but Thomas wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Peter replied, reaching out to ruffle Thomas’ hair. The child ducked away, instead allowing himself to loll aside onto the floor, content to gasp like a dying fish in the heat. “Now, on our topic for the day...”

“I’d imagine I do give an impression of magic,” she laughed, eyes sparkling. Peter blinked, raising an eyebrow. “In the way I look, how I act...”

“Well, I suppose my intentions weren’t exactly hidden,” he admitted. “Although I was lucky to find you here, so far from home. Ah, Rachel -- tell me about...well, any of it. People like you -- and myself, to a lesser extent -- seem so rare these days. What’s your story?” Her eyes darted to his hand and he shook his head, adding, “I’m not recording, and your family is safe. I only wish to listen.”

The toddler in her lap mumbled something and Rachel hushed him. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“Hm? Why?”

She chuckled, glancing away from her son. Instead of meeting Peter’s gaze, she instead seemed to look past him, focusing on preschooler Thomas on the ground. “Symbolism is the greatest thing people like you or I may learn. It helps us understand who we are, and what we may soon become,” she hummed, rising from her seat and shifting her son to one arm, holding him seemingly effortlessly. The little boy shifted, babbling something Thomas couldn’t decipher as legible. “In my case, a creature so sharp-sighted, of the skies and heavens with a greater connection to time and its passing...a creature who looks beyond today or even tomorrow.”

Her shawl seemed to fall like a waterfall over her right arm, controlled and intentional, and as it slid over her skin, something changed…

As the edges of the shawl split and wove together once more, Thomas stumbled back, eyes wide in shock and surprise.

Her arm was now the dappled brown, white, and black feathers of a hawk.

Peter appeared equally impressed, rising from his chair. “A shapeshifter?”

“Not quite,” she replied. Her son, facing away from Thomas, seemed to have awoken with the commotion and stretched out his fingers to tug at her feathers. She gently set him down, in one smooth motion her wing evaporating and the feathers returning to a simple shawl. “We so rarely have one lone power. My friend, we are a collection of intention and necessity. We are dynamic, and we are changing, and we are preparing for the day when we will need all we have learned. I am able to shapeshift into a hawk. It’s the first power I ever learned, and the first one I perfected. But I am so, so much more than that -- a hawk is the form I take, but it is not that I am a shapeshifter, it is rather that I may capture all that this animal symbolizes and is built to be. I am a prophet, one with eyes blessed by the heavens. I see the skies as they truly are, and I see how they once were, and I see how they will be. I only hope my predictions will be enough -- for I may see tomorrow clearly, and the day after that. But years from now, my sight is blurred, and one day, it stops.”

Peter slowly fell back into his seat. “And...your children, do they...?”

She sighed, her own crestfallen look now in contrast to her son’s cheerful mumbles as he woke up. “From what I see, I hope the answer is no. But I have my doubts -- especially as it is more than likely one of my sons will inherit a power very similar to my own.”

“I see.” Thomas didn’t miss the way his father’s mouth twitched into a frown, his gaze glancing over to the preschooler on the floor. “Why do you doubt yourself?”

“Not too long ago,” she began, taking her seat once more. Her son was squirming in her arms and she helped him to the floor where he wobbled on his feet for several seconds before falling to sit. Whether intentional or not, he seemed pleased with his current situation. Rachel continued, “I had a strange dream of a strange group of people, each with a power of their own.” Thomas furrowed his brow, listening intently, but took the chance to stoop down his knees, at the height of the toddler on the floor. The son of a woman who could shapeshift into a hawk. The little boy had medium-dark skin and straight, brown-black hair. But what caught his gaze the most were the child’s eyes: big and wide, shining bright blue with a drop of violet in the centers. They glimmered like ice, or perhaps light sparking from the depths of a crystal. As vibrant as the boy’s mother’s eyes, albeit not formed from gold. After a pause, Rachel added, “Eight of them. Two adults, long-lived and powers long realized. And six children...boundless, unpredictable...”

Thomas yanked his focus away from the toddler on the floor to instead return to the mother, and when he did, it felt as though she were staring straight at him.

And then, the scene seemed to blur and go dark, like the screen of a phone about to die or perhaps ink smudged across a page. Trees from outside seemed to creep into the small house, or perhaps he was simply watching the vision fade.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Thomas turned and glanced skywards to see the strange, shadowy being from before. It tipped its head, pulling Thomas to his feet and, once again, gripping the notebook in its palm. Thomas tentatively reached out to it, the figure lifting a single finger, leaving Thomas paused, waiting.

They looked back once more over the scene, thinking, and then flipped through the notebook to the page they had marked before. They glanced back to Thomas, and, seemingly with an expression of, “well?” they slowly shut the cover.

Thomas glanced outside one final time, seeing now -- instead of the houses and beach -- the night sky. Dark trees curling upwards, the moon and stars shining down.

And once again, Thomas was struck with the odd realizing that the sky was somehow _wrong_ , the stars scribbled in, the moon...

From the faint light of the house, Thomas saw his own reflection in the glass of the window. The grey cloak was around his shoulders, spilling down past his knees, the hood pulled over his head -- leaving his face dark and his features obscured.

* * *

 

Thomas bolted upright, the shrill beeping of his phone’s alarm dragging back him to the waking world.

A splitting headache pounding through his skull, he groaned, glancing down at his hands and jumping when he saw they covered in what must have been black ink. Fumbling for his lamp -- the sun always rose so late in winter and early spring -- he clicked it on, only to yelp as he saw what it really was: blood.

“Gah- shit!” he cried, stumbling out of bed and to the bathroom, bunching up toilet paper and pressing it to his bleeding nose.

What was going on…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thomas can only assume that Alexander is Rachel's son, but doesn't Alex have brown eyes?
> 
> Anyways! A little late, but here we go. This chapter is a bit short since it was originally going to span a lot longer, but this scene ended up running longer than expected, so I decided to split it into two chapters. Thomas will get a few questions answered and meet the others soon enough. :) I also added a prologue to the start of the fic, if anyone wants to check it out!


	12. A Prophecy

Fully intent on ignoring the cold and his growing paranoia of shadow monsters, Thomas grabbed his laptop and walked outside to sit down and get some work done. When the air’s chill hit him squarely in the face like a sucker punch to the nose, he reconsidered, instead making a beeline for the library and setting himself up there instead.

Considering the cold outside, most people were gathered away from the windows -- hence, by the time classes were over and Thomas had gotten into the library to work, he was cast to the furthest corners of the room to bask in the cold radiating through the class. Absent-mindedly, he traced a little shape into the fogged up glass. A few triangles, a few curves. Might even look like a bird, if he squinted, but he had never been an artist.

Whatever. He had work to do.

* * *

 

He had made some good progress on his math practice work when his focus began to wane. He was starting to get a light headache, probably from having a staring contest with his laptop screen, and eventually had to pull away and rub at his temples. For whatever reason, his mind wasn’t too interested in functioning anymore.

He could always have taken a break, gone for a walk, poked around the library, but...after a moment’s hesitation, he unzipped the top of his bag and pulled out the notebook. The being he met in his dreams -- whether they were real or imagined or a breath of the subconscious -- had been _so insistent_. It was time to figure out what his father’s script was hiding.

He opened to the first page, and the same note from before was there. A reminder that Thomas was never supposed to find this; a reminder that his sister was always to be there even if their father was lost.

If only he had his family back.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, he flicked through the pages with his thumb pressed to the corner of each sheet like a flipbook. Waiting, expecting, for the one that was marked.

A sharp spike of pain drove through his skull and he froze, staring down at the lined paper. It wasn’t dated at the top like a letter -- it was a continuation of the previous page. 

This was it. His gaze raked over the page -- and it was the one from his dream last night. Well, its contents were, in a way; they spoke of the day that Peter had met with Rachel, the day they shared reveling in their knowledge of magic and power. The day that a strange woman had shared…

 

> _What struck fear within me was the way Rachel spoke of her future. She described it to me as intuition. Knowing the words, feeling the emotions, and simply trying to interpret what they meant. She wanted to write them down, but could never quite bring her pen to paper, to record her fleeting visions; if her children lived without magic and she died along with it, they would be left directionless in her eyes. So many realizations stuck within her, but one, she told me, was clearer than anything else -- one that she never wrote down not because she could not find the words, but because she knew it wouldn’t leave her memories, her dreams, her thoughts. She said:_
> 
> _The first-born two were clear to the eye; their path was long, and fraught with lies. They wear old clothes, but never age; the augmenter, the endurer, recorded by page._
> 
> _The next three are new, their journeys begun; their years are few; their lives are young. The mimic, the scout, the alchemist, too; they hid from fate, sought magic, and grew._
> 
> _Sixth is the child flown from the coast, the singular child I fear the most. I wish to deny it, but I know it is true; the prophet is he who glows gold on debut._
> 
> _The last are two-fold, a foil of first; the maker, the reaper, two children both cursed. An old ancient world, one long-since defiled; a newer creation where dreams are beguiled._
> 
> _Eight magicians alone, a selection now honed, a hope that I have for the future...for if they should fail (and they very well might), the next days I see are lacking in light._

Thomas should have grimaced, but his veins ran cold. A prophecy. Why were prophecies always written in rhyme? He wanted to believe it was a way to cover up how vague things were, but…

Golden eyes. Alexander, the hawk. He swallowed, trying to make sense of it all, trying to wonder if he fit in anywhere if he was-

“Hey, Thomas!” Aaron Burr called, happily dropping down into the chair beside him. A little too happily for Burr, the man who was always so gloomy. Snapping the notebook shut, he didn’t miss the way Aaron’s eyes lingered on it in confusion before returning to meet Thomas’ gaze. “Are, uh, are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” Thomas snapped back, composing himself for a moment by shaking his head and sighing, trying to soften his tone. “I- Sorry. What do you mean?”

Aaron spread his hands, lips curling into a frown. “I know we aren’t... _super_ great friends, and all, but...” He shrugged. “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been distant these last few days, and I...wanted to check up on you.”

Thomas sighed. If this was how a casual friend was feeling, he could only imagine how Jemmy was feeling. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been...kinda caught up in some craziness lately.” God, why couldn’t he tell his friends about it!? That was always the first rule of magic, that you don’t tell anyone else about it, but… His head dropped into his hands. “I’ve just been busy. You and James and I’ll have’ta get together soon, yeah?”

Aaron sighed, leaning against the table, trying to look sincere. “Yeah. Just...I know we’re not the closest, but I do consider you a pretty good friend, and if there’s anything-”

He was interrupted as Thomas’ phone buzzed loudly against the table, the both of them jumping. Thomas winced, going to silence it, seeing as it was a text from an unfamiliar number -- but Burr shook his head, standing up. “That’s all I had to say. Don’t bother stopping your work for me.”

“Well...I’ll see you soon,” Thomas promised, knowing he sounded pitiful and weak. Burr nodded, smiled, and Thomas knew it was wistful to imagine his friend’s eyes as knowing more than they could. Maybe he was just hopeful he could have someone who wasn’t a weird, annoying, know-it-all-bird to confide in.

A little frustrated that a text of all things (something they could have easily ignored!) had created an abrupt end to their conversation, Thomas sighed, picking up the phone and raising an eyebrow. Fine, fine. What was this about? Swiping into his text app, he clicked onto the message from the unfamiliar number, expecting a spam text or a friend having gotten a new number. Instead, he saw:

“Hey, Thomas! Hope you join us tonight. Be ready around...7:30...ish? Have your cloak with you, but don’t bother shapeshifting. I’ll see you when you get there -- someone else will meet you tonight! (And you’ll finally get to learn...my secret magician superhero identity!)”

Following it was an emoji of an eagle with a disclaimer that it was the closest thing to a hawk he could find. He wanted to play along; he really did. But…he couldn’t. Instead, he raised his phone off the table and texted back:

 “Sounds good. Thanks for the heads up, Alex!”

Was it petty? Absolutely.

Alexander didn’t reply.

* * *

 

That evening, Thomas still hadn’t heard back from the other student. He was starting to...really worry, honestly. Was his little comment out of annoyance enough to…?

After locking his door, shutting his window, and jumping into the bathroom, he shapeshifted between human and owl until he was dizzy. He wasn’t getting much faster or smoother in the transition, but by the end of it all, he could shapeshift with shorts and a tighter shirt on. Shoes were a resolute “no,” but at least he wasn’t completely naked.

He had gathered up his cloak, folding it over a few times and stuffing it into his backpack, quickly followed by the outfit he had managed to shapeshift in. He wanted to have it on hand, but didn’t want to actually show up anywhere dressed like that. He then reached over to grab his father’s notebook, but after a few moments’ hesitation, pulled away and instead left it, the tin, and his laptop in his room. Instead, he threw his phone and keys in with his cloak, slinging the whole contraption over his back and heading downstairs. As always, he took the back exit, avoiding the gaggle of freshmen (God, he hoped that next year, they’d be less-annoying sophomores) and stepping outside. The rush of cold air brushed a few locks of hair away from his face, and he shuddered, suddenly regretting not wearing the cloak in the first place. He hardly felt the cold as a bird…

The space around him was empty, and he shifted on his feet, wondering if he ought to pull out his phone and check for texts. It was 7:30 on the dot, although Alex has said “ish,” so we Thomas already late…? Was he shit outta luck? Something gone wrong with whoever was supposed to get him? Backing up to press against the wall and shuddering at the sensation of cold brick against his back (he was only in a t-shirt and jeans, after all), he glanced to his right. No one. To his left...no one!

A hand on his shoulder.

He glanced to his right.

And there stood Hercules. He was a junior, like Thomas, although where Thomas was fairly average (albeit a little tall) and comfortably-built, Hercules appeared _strong_ , the kind of person you didn’t _not_ see whenever they were around. How could he have snuck up unnoticed? Thomas took a half-step back, and Hercules raised his eyebrows. “Thomas, is it?” Thomas nodded, and Hercules smiled, a surprising amount of warmth behind his eyes. “Hah, well. Lucky to have found you so quick, because, heh, I kinda need a ride, if you’re willing to drive me. I trust you know where we’re going? The antique shop in town, as always.”

“U-uh, yeah. Sure.”

When the pulled into the small lot of their local antique store, it appeared unchanged to how it had been only a few nights before -- two spots occupied, Thomas pulling into an empty spot a few spaces down. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, shuddering as the heating cut off and the chill outside began to creep in. Clicking his jaw shut, he braced himself and threw open the door, ignoring how the cold stung his nose as he grabbed his backpack from the backseat and began to head towards the shop’s entrance. Hercules must have clambered out at around the same time as he gave no protest when Thomas clicked the button on his keys and locked the car behind him, Hercules appearing in-step as they walked near the doors.

And, just as before, the bell over the door jingled as they walked inside, the same homey, warm lighting washing across the piles of dusty furniture and small knick-knacks. Thomas didn’t notice any of his new additions crammed onto any of the piles nearest the entrance, but there were plenty of other nooks to look through if he were so determined.

He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to see as he looked through the space around him. Alex, and the others, together and waiting? Each of them with their own powers, their own magics, and a spot for Thomas and Hercules? That certainly wasn’t the case; in fact, the room, as stuffed to the brim with this and that as it was, remained bare of people. Rubbing his arms, he took a step away from the door, unsure. What now?

That answer came in the form of Hercules, wrapping his fingers around Thomas’ wrist and tugging him along. “We like to hang out around back. Less stuff to knock over that way, you know.”

“Hah, yeah…” Thomas agreed, almost tripping over an oddly-shaped chair leg as he was dragged along towards the front desk. Where Thomas was cautious not to bump into anything, even without factoring in his backpack (oh, why did he even bring it? He could have carried everything in it without a problem), Hercules was unbothered, easily slipping between furniture and over stacks of books. Thomas let his gaze linger as they stepped behind the front desk, looking to see if what he had donated was still there, if against all odds the little bits of this and that were different, looked magical, had _something_ changed. With his focus behind him, he didn’t notice as Hercules threw open the door Lafayette had disappeared back into when Caroline had banished him away from the front counter. That was when it reached him -- the sound of quiet laughter, discussion.

He turned, Hercules’s grip loosening and then disappearing from his arm as the other student stepped inside. Thomas followed a moment after, turning down the hall after Hercules and making his way into a room painted in the same warm colors as the exterior of the building -- except rather than being faded and streaked from light and wind and water, the paint looked newer, fresher, as though not a day had passed since it had been first decorated. Bookshelves covered two walls, the third being windows facing the woods behind the shop (and Thomas didn’t pretend he didn’t shudder at the sight); a table like the kind in libraries or dorm rooms with similarly blocky chairs crammed underneath it sat in the center of the room. Above them, Thomas had fully expected to see the tops of the bookshelves covered with the same layer of antiques seen in the main shop area, but couldn’t contain his amusement at the sight of a bird swing, the kind someone might buy for a parrot, latched to hooks dug into the ceiling in the corner of the room. When he thought about it, red-tailed hawks weren’t really that big, even a little small when compared to some of the bigger pet birds that were out there. Things fit for parrots wouldn’t be hard-pressed to work for a hawk, if it so desired.

Although at the moment, it _didn’t_ seem so desired -- because the hawk himself, Alexander Hamilton, had his arms crossed under his head and nose buried in his elbows, completely and utterly dead to the world, asleep as he was. His cloak was even slung over his shoulders, and while Thomas couldn’t tell whether or not the other student was wearing shoes, Thomas got the impression Alex had flown here from campus. To his left was John, rapping his fingers on the table to an unsounded beat as he went on about something or another. The final part member, Lafayette, seemed engrossed in their conversation, leaning forward with his chin propped up on his palm and eyes wide. Although, of course, it was equally possible his apparent attentiveness was simply a side effect of desperately trying to understand the other’s words. 

When they entered, Lafayette happily popped his head up to get a better look at Thomas, one eyebrow raised. John trailed off, Thomas awkwardly shifting from one foot to another. Had they even known he was coming? “Thomas! Welcome,” Lafayette grinned, his eyes betraying his thoughts -- that he was aware that Thomas was coming, but wasn’t sure what to do upon arrival, now that the scenario had finally come true. With a grunt, he elbowed Alex in the ribs, the other student leaping out of his slumped position with a yelp.

For a long moment, everything went silent, Alex blinking wildly to pull himself awake, trying to make sense of the situation. Thomas stepped forward into the room so that Hercules could slip in past him, sneakily glancing over at Alexander. Even in the warm light of the room, they were a dull, dull brown. The other student’s gaze flicked up to meet Thomas a moment later, but Alex could only maintain eye contact for a few moments before looking away, embarrassed. Then, Thomas shook his head, shrugging and putting on a weak smile, forcing down confusion and worry and anxiety. “Uh, heh, thanks. Excited to be here, I guess? Be better if monsters were less involved.”

John actually repressed a snicker at that, and while Thomas wasn’t quite certain how much of a joke he himself had meant it to be, the tense mood had broken and Hercules clapped him on the back. “Hope you know this isn’t some crazy team meeting, my man. Just getting together for proper introductions. ‘Bout time you joined us, and got some real answers!”

Thomas took another look at the room. John, tired, but accepting. Lafayette, a little confused, but hopeful. Hercules, certain that it would all work out. And Alexander, pulling the collar on his cloak a little tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late! We'll see if I can get another chapter out this weekend to make up for the delay; in the meantime, I'll be posting this in the middle of the week so that it doesn't keep getting pushed back. :) Finally going to get some answers! If only a prophecy hadn't complicated things further...
> 
> Alex's favorite movie is Rio! (That movie with the Spix's Macaws.) Not because he wants to be a pet or anything, but because he really likes the idea of a house set up for a bird to walk around in (ignoring the fact that he's perfectly capable of flight). And, hey, he's allowed to buy bird toys if he wants to! Besides, maybe someday he'll find his own Jewel...
> 
> That is NOT to say he considers himself a real bird. He's never hunted for his own food and is perfectly content to sleep indoors. But, for what it matters, he's pretty happy with the idea of being a bird that thinks/feels like a human does; his "other" body is an incredibly important part of who he is and while he understands he needs to remain in his human form to, well, participate in human society, he's equally comfortable in hawk form. Although John thinks it'd be the COOLEST thing ever if Alex turned into a hawk and they participated in falconry shows. Alex's fear of getting trapped/shot at/kidnapped/taken to the vet or a wildlife clinic in bird form makes this a resolute "no."


	13. A Meeting

After a short pause, Hercules clapped his hands together, the sudden noise starting Thomas out of his stupor. “Well, if Washington isn’t gonna show, we’d best be getting to it!” He kicked the door shut behind Thomas, the thud a little too loud to claim anything but that Hercules had slammed the poor thing.

For some reason John found that funny as he chuckled, “Aren’t you supposed to be the quiet one?”

“Only when I want to be!” Hercules answered back, voice booming and face split in a grin of delight. Thomas tried to lean a little further away from the other’s mouth without looking too conspicuous; he always complained that it were the freshmen who were loud, and yet, Hercules here a junior like Thomas and didn’t seem to be much better (no doubt from hanging out  _ with _ said freshmen),

John shrugged, as if having gotten a glimpse of Hercules’ fate and found himself perfectly happy to watch as the guy stumbled right into it. “Hey, your funeral. Just don’t blame me when Martha comes in to chew you out for slamming doors.” Thomas’ brow furrowed at the comment. Martha was the owner of the store, wasn’t she? Did that imply she  _ didn’t _ know they were there?

“Uh,  _ just _ to check, we’re...allowed to be here, right?” Thomas tentatively asked. “Or is this, like, the break room for employees, and we strolled on in to harass Lafayette.” He remembered Laf working the counter. And, of course, he had his hopes that they were allowed inside -- but from what little he had previously learned of the (quite frankly, odd) group before him, there was every possibility they regularly trespassed and the shop owner had simply grown too weary to keep chasing them out.

Or, conversely, Martha had the sort of magic (she  _ had _ to have magic -- she ran the shop they gathered in, Lafayette and John hung out here, there was a  _ bird swing _ mounted into the ceiling!) that allowed her to spy on them, making sure no one was causing trouble, or even-

“Don’t worry about all that,” Alex mumbled; Thomas shook himself out of his thoughts at the sound. The younger student rolled his eyes. “And before you ask,  _ no _ , I’m not a mind reader. But your dumbass face isn’t good at concealing emotions.”

Thomas blushed, crossing his arms. “Thanks for catching me up, there.”

Alex shrugged, adding, “Not everyone has incredible powers. Some of us are just along for the ride with passive magic and a helping hand to lend.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. Thus far, he had seen Alexander shapeshift and even shoot golden...lasers? Harmful light? Whatever it was, he had done it, although it knocked him out for a good while. Then, of course, there was Thomas’  _ other _ theory, but he was still working on that one. Surely Alex couldn’t be referring to himself with that!

Hercules stepped forwards to grab a chair, Thomas following after him like a lost puppy, out of his element -- and when he saw the last chair already taken, he hovered standing nearby for a few moments before Alexander dramatically huffed, standing up. “Go on Thomas, sit down.” Before Thomas could protest, a red-tailed hawk was hopping up onto the table, spreading his wings -- and as close as he was, Thomas noted the beautiful amber feathers on the undersides of the wings near the body, slowly dipping into a cream, brown-striped sweep near the edges and the darkened tips. Alex flared his bright red tail, leaping into the air and with two flaps of its wings settling onto the perch above, the swing wobbling dangerously fast as the bird fumbled to get a grip on the bar. Alexander, now in his -- in a way, more familiar -- hawk form (golden eyes and all) stared down at Thomas, unhappily huffing, < _ I gave up my seat for you. The least you could do is take it. _ >

Thomas wanted to take the command seriously, but the site of such a dignified bird swinging gently on a perch meant for pet parrots made him snort. Alexander seemed to reel at Thomas’ amusement, the hawk unhappily adding, < _ You can shapeshift too. Either park your clumsy ass up here on the swing or you stop making fun of me and sit your butt down. _ > The hawk’s tone was unclear, but Thomas decided to presume that Alex was joking and leave it at that, slinging his backpack off his shoulder and sitting down in the now-open chair between John and Lafayette, Hercules having taken a seat on the end nearest to the window.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected, now that he was here and sitting at their table. Was he going to find out that there was a manual for magic? A school? Were they a team of superheroes, and Thomas had gotten himself mixed up into it all? Ghost hunters? Whatever his daydreams had decided upon, it wasn’t this: the french exchange student practically vibrating in his seat for several long moments before squealing, “Well? You have to show us!”

John must have understood the reasoning behind Thomas’ confused expression as he clarified, “Your focus! Alex was ranting to us the other day that your cloak looks so much fancier than his.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the hawk’s feathers poof up in annoyance. “And hey, it’s still a big deal that you  _ found _ it. Sure, might have taken the better part of a decade later than is usually the case, but it’s better than not finding it at all! So-” he leaned forward, eyes wide, “Gonna show it off, or what?”

“Oh,” Thomas answered lamely, bending over to unzip his backpack and pull out his cloak. For some reason, sitting in a room of seasoned magic users, it didn’t seem as special. A little dull, a little grungy; it was-

Lafayette snatched it out of Thomas’ hands, giving a cry of delight. “Wow, it is beautiful!” He held it up to the light, as if able to see something about it that Thomas couldn’t hope to discern. “It has a...a twisty feeling.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, Lafayette stuttering out a few words in broken franglais before finally managing, “It is...new magic, a little bit. The cloak does not look new, but it is  _ newer _ . And it has a...a small bit of old magic, too. The old reimagined anew. And that’s good! Shapeshifting is such a fascinating type of magic…”

John tapped Thomas on the shoulder, jumping into their conversation. “Seriously, man! This is the stuff that the legends of selkies are made out of.” At Thomas’ befuddled look of trying to dig through any old myths he remembered, John added, “The therianthropes -- shapeshifters -- that used animal skins to turn into seals. You know, the ones in legends where a man steals a selkie’s sealskin to make her marry him. Pretty desperate, if you ask me,” he finished with a snort. Thomas chuckled, trying to keep up with the mood, but something that Alexander had said came back to him -- how if someone stole their focus (in his case, his cloak), they would be under the thief’s control. How attached Alex was to his cloak compared to Thomas, how protective he was over it, even to the point of bringing it to class with him only so he could keep an eye on it at all times.

It was a lot to think about, was all he was trying to say.

Still, Laf grinned, stamping his feet on the ground in delight. “What can I say? This is- it is  _ so _ exciting-!” His rough laughter turned into a squeal as Alexander swooped down on him, Lafayette ducking down and covering his head with his arms to protect himself from the hawk. “Alex, stop!”

The hawk snapped out its talons, smoothly landing on a bookcase opposite to where he had been perching before. < _ Come on, fanboy. Let’s do something a little more productive. _ >

The sudden horror of having a raptor in his face dissolved, Lafayette laughed. “Okay, thank you for the order. I will think about it.” The bird nodded, Thomas entertaining the idea that he might have even been jealous about the attention Thomas was getting (or otherwise, simply impatient?), and Lafayette shrugged. “Alright, alright. Euh, obviously I am from France. You can call me by the name I use in America, Lafayette.”

“Hiiiiii Lafayette,” John sniggered, drawing out the first syllable.

The exchange student rolled his eyes, continuing, “My magic is...to find things. I- ah...” He paused mid-sentence, digging through his pocket for several moments before pulling out an old, ornate monocle, the glass glimmering in the soft light. Almost like a street performer, he rolled it across his knuckles and swept it back into his sleeve a moment later. “I- as you say, I have an eye for things that are...irregular, is the word? Strange. Magical.”

< _ Fucking weird, like you, _ > Alexander snorted. John shot the bird a look that said “if you don’t keep your remarks to yourself I’ll start climbing that bookshelf and then you’ll be out of places to hide.” 

Still, the freckled student sighed, raising his arms far above his head and stretching. “My power isn’t so fancy. I kinda-”

“He is like a Tupperware!” Lafayette butt in, leaving Thomas hopelessly looking between the person and his left and the one on his right, thoroughly overwhelmed. 

Crooking his mouth into a frown, Thomas huffed, “Alright, y’all. You know- I appreciate getting some answers, but I’d like them in...English, no offense, and straightforwards. You c’n prob’ly guess this is a lot to take in.” By chance, he made eye contact with Hercules, the other man giving a slight nod. A few moments later, Laf mumbled a quiet apology, John resuming.

“I...I make things, you could say. Like...um, a magical herbalist? Think in movies where someone lives in a little house covered in ivy and flowers, and they’re constantly throwing herbs and grasses into a pot and mixing potions. That’s...yeah, that’s pretty much what I do. Figure out new blends all the time...and usually ends with something exploding, but at least I’ve got ‘things that go boom’ under my belt.”

Next up in their order was Hercules, who Thomas found easy to ignore -- until the man started  _ speaking _ in a booming, excited voice, yanking the collar of his shirt aside to expose a necklace akin to a choker wrapped tight around his neck. It reminded Thomas of the survival bracelets he sometimes saw in stores, made from a thick cord tied in a pattern that alternated colors like a snakeskin -- vaguely, Thomas remembered a little rhyme about certain colors touching others meaning a snake was venomous or harmless, but he couldn’t remember how it went. In the place of the necklace’s clip was a dull stone tied into the rope. “I’m not half-bad at...blending in, shall we say. People don’t always notice me -- which is alright. I’m good at  _ reading the room _ .”

Someone who watches for magic. Someone who mixes ingredients to create wondrous things. Someone who can disappear on a whim.

Thomas was starting to see where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

Hercules intertwined his fingers, looking down the table at Thomas. “Well. Ahem. I guess that’s...well, that was our little introduction, so-”

An indignant squawk drew their attention back up to the shelf where a certain hawk was perched on the very edge. Hercules raised an eyebrow, Lafayette snorted, and with that, Alexander took it as his cue to flutter back down to the table, strutting along the wood surface as though it were a runway. Flaring his tail feathers and rising to his full height (of barely two feet tall, if that) he proudly stated, < _ As you’ve...figured out, I am Alexander Hamilton...the red-tailed hawk. _ >

That actually made Thomas scoff. “Alright, narcissist.”

Alex shook off the insult without missing a beat. < _ You should just be excited to be welcomed to the party! I mean, I for one would gladly trade fighting weird monsters for the chance to be able to fly. _ >

Thomas initially assumed that was sarcasm, but when all around him there was quiet, almost understanding murmurs of agreement and soft laughter, he was starting to wonder if that was...fully intentional. “U-uh, is that...normal?”

“It is not unheard of,” Lafayette replied, placing a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “Magic can become...unruly, is the word? When it is left unattended.”

Thomas gulped, shrugging the french student’s hand off his shoulder, all the while wondering: what  _ exactly _ had he gotten himself into?

* * *

 

Honestly, he had expected a more concrete explanation as to what they actually did. He wasn’t so foolish that he was going to assume they would act like another one of those fun, hangout clubs that always sprang up towards the start of the year, and he similarly wasn’t one to imagine that if they  _ did _ advertise themselves as a group performing magic they’d get a mix of sleight-of-hand artists and wannabe witches ready to perform blood sacrifices in the woods.

He wanted to know what Martha Washington had to do with it all. He wanted to know how her husband fit in, clearly being in some position of authority over the people sitting at the table around Thomas (and really, he agreed that they could use a little authority, as rambunctious as they were). He wanted to know where Alex was from and why he now rested here, of all places.

Questions, questions. But one thing was bugging him: the prophecy.

He could have dismissed it all as bogus, but the prophecy -- one that was over a  _ decade _ old, considering it was a memory from Thomas’ preschool years that had since been forgotten -- seemed real enough. In fact, it matched worryingly well with at least four of the magic users he knew: John, Lafayette, Hercules, and Alexander. It wasn’t too far a stretch from there to assume that the Washingtons were included, either, presuming they had magic themselves. Thomas might even fill out another slot, although the idea worried him.

But, best case scenario, that made seven people. The prophecy mentioned eight. No matter what, they were still missing at least one person.

And so, amidst the side conversations and dull chatter, Thomas tentatively asked, “Lafayette?”

“Hm?” The frenchman turned his gaze to meet Thomas’ look.

“Uh...just to ask...if you have the power to sense magic, do you know if there are any other magic users at our college?” Maybe there was someone like him, who was late to the ballpark.

Lafayette shrugged, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table. The hawk, who had settled in to stand on the tabletop, jumped at the sudden vibrations. “I sense...bursts of magic, sometimes. But usually it is nothing, and rarely it is...a concerning creature. That was the situation when I saw you! I thought it was an accident, but Alex kept an eye on you in any case, and I am very glad he did.”

“‘Course,” Hercules added, “We all saw you around now and then. It was just a coincidence that the shapeshifter was the one who had a class with you.”

Thomas nodded, thinking. A “concerning creature.” Three guesses as to what that meant. “Okay,” the flatly stated, scooting up a little in his chair. “Let’s forget about what you guys do and, I guess, what I can do. Just for a minute.” Fingers digging ever-so-slightly into his arms, he grimaced, “I don’t want you guys going on about how cool magic is without giving me a halfway decent explanation. I get that foci are, like, a part of your soul, channel your magic, all that. You need one to do magic.” At least, that was what Alex told him -- but he had his doubts. “Straightforward enough. And, from what I can gather, these...monster things work kinda by the same system, right? Are they a regular occurance? Should I be running, screaming for my life?” His fingers firsted into his hair. “I just want a straightforward answer before I’m sucked in to hanging out with you guys and realize there’s no escape. So...what’s the deal with those  _ things _ ?”

Lafayette opened his mouth, and after several seconds as he struggled to find the English words specific enough to describe their situation, closed it again. John scraped his fingernail along the table, shrugging, his cheerful (or at least, not negative) mood suddenly evaporated. After a pause, John looked to Hercules. The man sighed, readjusting his posture before finally saying, “I’m not gonna lie -- you’re quick, Thomas. You’ve already put together, quite a bit, I’m sure.” When Thomas’ eyes glanced back to Hercules’ focus, the man added a weak smile to his gaze. “As I said, my magic is mimicry -- which means I need to be able to both reflect what’s around me, and  _ know _ what’s around me. I’m no mind reader, but I can still sense the emotions ticking away in your brain, and you’ve been bursting with them this whole time.”

John motioned for Hercules to get back to the topic at hand and Thomas shifted in his seat once more, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell whether Hercules was stalling on purpose or simply becoming sidetracked -- but luckily, the man continued, “Alright, alright. The...the things you’ve seen are certainly real, let’s start with that. Legends and ghost stories exist for a reason, and...well, magic sees magic alike.”

Thomas tried to wrap his head around what that meant, seeking out anything similar he had ever heard to try and put it into perspective. “So, what? I get to resign myself to a life of, on occasion, randomly being attacked by monsters?”

Hercules practically balked at the thought. “God, that’d be horrible! Yeah, uh, no,” he replied, adding on a chuckle as if laughter alone would ease Thomas’ fears. “We’re really just cryptozoology nerds here, to be honest. The thing is- you can only see ‘cryptids’ or- or monsters- if you either are a full-blooded magic user, or if you’re related to one. That’s why some people report catching glimpses of ghosts and such; if your great-aunt-twice-removed had magic, you might not have the ability yourself, but you might occasionally see a little something off. And-” Hercules had been looking down at the table, but he then moved to stare up at Thomas, and his eyes were full of excitement. “Thomas, we can see and do... _ incredible _ things. Things some people would  _ dream _ of doing. Over time, you learn how to avoid bad magics, distinguish new magic from that which is ancient and unchanging and long-set in the rules of our world. Yes, we have a mission here: to get  _ rid _ of bad magic and make things safer and better for everyone. But beyond that, we want to find other people with magic, connect with them, learn from each other. We’re all just here to have a good time and see bigfoot, not to get killed!”

The way the room erupted into laughter was more than a little disconcerting in Thomas’ opinion, but he appreciated at least one but of reassurance -- he wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be trapped in a cycle of constant death and pain. Just like how Alex shapeshifted to run away from reality, this group was here to do a little bit of good in the world and offer support and an escape from the bad parts of their lives.

Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible thing, after all.

* * *

 

Thomas had his explanation, at least to an extent. After a while of casual chit chat -- this really was just a social call, after all; a chance to meet the team -- everyone began packing up to head out for the night, promising Thomas they’d be in touch. Hercules said that he preferred to ride back with John, so the two hopped into the latter’s car together and headed out before Thomas; Lafayette explained that he had to help Martha close up the shop, so while she was still nowhere to be seen (and Thomas continued to question exactly what sorts of powers she and her husband really had), the French student remained behind. Despite assuming that Alex would fly back to campus on his own, Thomas was more than happy to hop back into his car instead and turn on his heater. As he was double-checking he had everything and was good to go, something dropped through his peripheral vision -- and when he snapped his head over to look, he saw Alexander standing by his window with a pained expression on his face.

Reluctant to let out the warm air that was just beginning to fill the interior space of his car, Thomas rolled down his window halfway, looking up at Alex. “Hey?” He leaned forward slightly, looking down -- Alex still wasn’t wearing shoes, hopping from foot to foot with a hiss through gritted teeth.

Looking more pitiful by the second, Alex asked through chattering teeth, “Mind if I, um, ride back with you…? It’s kinda cold and, um, it’ll take me a while to get back to campus.”

Thomas considered making a joke about how Alexander would be warmer if he was flying, but ultimately, he didn’t really feel like being a dick about it all. They were going to the same place, anyway, and he figured Alex would have ridden with Herc and John had he not been hanging behind with the intent to fly until he realized how cold it had gotten. “Alright. Jump in passenger-side.” Alex was quick to do so, and Thomas had to ignore how  _ weird _ it was for someone to be riding in a car barefoot. It felt wrong, was all -- although really, if that was all the oddity he was going to focus on tonight (rather than anything else that was going on), that was fine by him.

Alexander wrapped himself up in his cloak, and Thomas wasn’t sure whether or not he was imagining feathers poofing up from the fabric to ward away the chill outside. “Oh God, it’s so cold here. You people are crazy for wanting to live so far north.”

“Virginia is still a part of the American South,” Thomas defended before remembering: Alexander was from the Caribbean. Not only that, but the guy was wearing light, tight clothing and, to top it all off, was barefoot. “Uh, where exactly are you from?”

Alexander was silent for several seconds, only sinking back into his seat a little further. Thomas took the opportunity to put his car into reverse, turning around in the parking lot and heading for the street. After the better part of a minute, Alexander finally answered, “I’m from Saint Kitts and Nevis.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it,” Thomas replied, but something popped back into his mind -- the vision (memory?) he had had the other night with the house and the woman and the baby. He might not have remembered his family vacation as a preschooler, but he surely must have visited there before if what he saw was to be believed…

“Eighth smallest country in the world, smallest in the Western hemisphere. Trust me,” Alexander whined, sounding downtrodden, “I looked it up. Pretty much all tourism now -- you don’t hear about it unless you’re there on a fucking vacation.”

“Ah.” Thomas wasn’t sure how to reply to that, nor if (or even how) to bring up his potential connection to the other without making it feel forced or awkward. After a long, almost-but-not-quite uncomfortable silence, Thomas tried switching the subject. “Uh, so...on another topic. The bird perch?”

He wasn’t one to look away from the road for long, but he did chance a quick glance aside to see Alexander cover his face to hide his blush, practically attempting to sink even further into his seat. “U-um, it was a gag gift, at first. But it turns out stuff for parrots actually fits me pretty well, so...might as well use it.” Thomas was starting to see how every little action impacted Alex, how he was so loud and confident among his friends but turned so quiet in the stillness and monotony of their drive home late in the night.

They didn’t speak much more for the rest of the car ride. It was only as they pulled into the parking lot by the dorms that Alexander shuffled for the door, fingers scraping at the latch, before sighing and saying, “Uh, hey...”

Thomas turned the car off, grabbing his keys out of the ignition. “Hm?”

“I, uh...I get that you’re still looking for answers to some things, and that we’re all...guys with magic powers that you’re suddenly being forced to know,” he mumbled, adding a shrug on to the end. “But, er, I was thinking -- you wanna hang out sometime? In my dorm room, I mean. I don’t have a roommate, so it’s just me.”

“You wanna hang out?” Thomas repeated, not quite sure he was picking up on whatever Alex was saying correctly.

Another shrug. “Yeah. Get to know each other better. Clear up some misunderstandings. I...didn’t really like you, at first, for some of my own reasons, but the more I get to know you the more okay I think you are. So...yeah.”

Come to think of it, Thomas should have taken that as an insult and been offended, but instead, he could only nod. “Alright. Text me when, then?”

“Okay.” Alexander threw the door open and stepped out into the cold, shuddering as his feet touched the ground. A moment later, a bird flew away.

A few minutes later, Thomas trudged back upstairs to his bed, plugging in his phone and collapsing under his covers.

Well. That had been a productive night, if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick since last Monday with an on-again off-again fever, so that's pretty fun. Anyways, I'm pretty excited for the next chapter, so maybe that one will actually be out on time, haha.
> 
> Alex is the sort of person that thrives around people; once he's isolated and alone, he's much more quiet and withdrawn. If nothing else, he's starting to really warm up to Thomas, even if Thomas is a little clueless about their relationship still.
> 
> Oh! And, not to brag, but this fic now has an [Ask Blog!](tjincofm.tumblr.com) It's primary for learning little things about the characters and clarifying small nuances about the world shown here in the fic. I'll also post updates and such on that blog from here on out as well!


	14. An Interrogation

He went to bed early, and woke up at a similar hour; for once, his sleep was restful, and he had no dreams. It was light outside, and when he clicked on his phone, the clock blinked with the lovely time of 9 AM.

With a few hours of free time on his hands -- he only had a few classes on Fridays -- and a surprisingly clear head considering he had just woken up, Thomas decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He was very well going to interrogate the first person he saw out of their little group-cult-magic-thing, and he had a feeling he knew who he could find the easiest -- Hercules, who he had seen around in the dining hall before. He hadn’t skipped over how Hercules seemed to be reassuring both Thomas and himself that there was no danger to be found while  _ hunting monsters _ \-- and beyond that, he had Alexander. Alexander, who liked to act so unforthcoming with information, but had freely warned Thomas of the dangers that lurked in the woods.

One way or another, he would hear what they knew. The problem was what they didn’t know, that Thomas did.

He sat down on the floor of his room, desk chair squeezed properly under his desk and his backpack thrown on his bed to give him as much space as possible. Once again, he found himself immensely thankful that despite living on-campus in a shitty dorm room, he had a space to himself. And on a whim, he grabbed his phone and earbuds, putting on something quiet to listen to in the background. Something to block out any distractions outside, whoever or whatever may be causing them at such an hour (such as, just as a random example, a gaggle of freshmen).

First down on the floor was his father’s notebook. What was it? What did it do? What did it tell him?

Well, it didn’t tell him much, that’s for sure. His father was a wordy writer, and as he thumbed through the pages, it sounded more like stories to give a morale boost rather than anything of substance. He’d learned of the prophecy, read of magic and mystery, but was given little in the way of concrete explanations. This weekend, if he had time, he was going to sit down and properly look through it. See where it led. He had to be missing something of importance; his father couldn’t have half-filled a ringed notebook with tales and stories while forgetting to tell Thomas what he had been planning to show him (well, planning to show his sister) all along.

Next, the envelope, the one that had been folded and bent and stuffed into the tin. It was still enclosed, and still unmailed. Popping open the tin, he worked the stiff, bent paper out into his palm, unfolding it to read the recipient’s name.

_ George Washington _ .

His father must have spoken with the Washingtons at some point, judging by one of the first short writings from his father he had read wherein they were mentioned. It mentioned their powers complementing each other, how they had been together for many years and had become the ones to lead the others: Alexander, John, Hercules, and Lafayette.

He desperately wanted to open the letter and read whatever his father had left behind for the other man, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Which sounded stupid, but it wasn’t for him, and when he had yet to learn of the true extent of his father’s own magic (he had never thought about it that way -- his father seemed to be connected to magic users, but what were his actual  _ powers? _ ), he didn’t dare mess with something intended for a more seasoned recipient.

At the same time, he didn’t know what the contents within held, and he wasn’t yet sure whether to trust Washington with something that, depending on what the letter held, could change the course of everything Thomas was trying to accomplish.

He set it aside.

Then, he had the flashdrive. It seemed like a backup of everything else, just little pictures he couldn’t bring himself to go through. All memories -- and despite the growing feeling of unease bubbling through him, the question of “Am  _ I _ forgetting something?”, he found nothing useful in that.

Next was his cloak, bundled up and twisted over itself into a small lump on the carpet. Was it even  _ his _ cloak? From what the others described, a focus appeared out of nowhere and was immediately bound to your soul, creating a powerful connection. He tried to recall what his father’s notebook had said on the subject, one of the few stories that was of any benefit to him. His father had said that they -- Jane, Thomas, and he -- lacked an intuition, a drive (for their focus?) that other magic users held. He seemed to be implying that he and Thomas could  _ see _ the magical world, but not harness it as others could. So, what, his father saw ghosts?

The problem was, Thomas certainly was able to harness some form of magic, considering he was able to shapeshift. But if his father’s notebook had been placed so precisely with the cloak, then the cloak couldn’t be a true focus. A focus wasn’t left by someone else in a bed of other magic items -- it appeared out of nowhere, right? It was something Thomas was able to control, but that was all. The real question, then, was what that meant -- and if he was able to replicate his magic with other “foci.” AKA: if he tried to steal Alex’s focus, what would happen? Would he be able to use it? How did taking a focus control someone else, like Alexander had implied? Another question he hoped the notebook answered, because he had a feeling the real questions he ought to be asking were: “What truly, fundamentally, does a focus do? And what did that mean to my father?”

Next up were the people he knew. His school friends: Aaron and James, apparently the two normal people in his life. His magic friends (well, ‘friends’ was an exaggeration, but that was beside the point): John, Lafayette, Hercules, and Alexander. Alexander, who he actually wouldn’t mind calling a friend at this point. He seemed kinda cool, if nothing else, and really did want Thomas to master his powers, whatever they were supposed to be at this point.

Finally, he had the prophecy. The mimic and the alchemist had to be Hercules and John; they were fairly straightforward with their forms of magic. The scout  _ could _ have been Alexander, but since Lafayette sensed magic, he could comfortably lean towards Alexander filling another role -- that of the prophet; that was easy enough to deduce.

The real questions came from the other four: the augmenter, the endurer, the maker, the reaper. He could start to guess who filled those gaps -- perhaps Washington or his wife, maybe even Thomas.

But that still left one slot empty.

Next: that monster and the shadow world from his dreams. He still wasn’t positive why he saw the monster as television static and void rather than ink, but even that was beginning to pull him towards another worrying realization: that he was missing  _ years _ of his memory, plucked apart here and there starting in middle school and ending after his father’s death. Whatever had happened during those years, if it was important, was lost to time and space. What hadn’t been lost was more so never found in the first place -- the exact circumstances of his father’s death, for one. Not like his mother wanted to speak of it with him. Then, that figure he met some nights in his dreams had felt benign at first and had never turned to hurt him, but there had to be something linking it with everything else -- the monster, the prophecy, the little boy with eyes of blue.

What else was he  _ missing _ ? Whatever he had seen in the clearing when he went out with Alexander that night, for starters. He  _ knew _ he had seen  _ something _ around the bone that had forced a spike of fire through his skull, and whatever it was, it had disappeared before Thomas could get a proper look at it, leaving him questioning whether he’d seen something there at all. Now, he was left asking: what was it, and where did it go? And quite frankly, he didn’t know.

Well, this was just fantastic! When he put it all together, he was left with an explanation of magic that didn’t match up with what he saw before him, a disappearing monster that could pop out of the bushes to bite his head off at any moment, and the feeling that he was missing a whole lot of pieces to this stupidly convoluted puzzle. It felt as though he were holding a bundle of red string and a pile of push pins to connect the dots together, but had no idea where to start -- not to mention that he was missing half the dots in the first place.

He checked the clock once more. Almost 10, anyway. He had to get ready soon.

Head aching, he rubbed at his temples and dropped back against the carpet. In his ears, some upbeat and twangy country song hummed along seemingly oblivious to his frustration, and he ripped out his earbuds as he realized he didn’t even like country music.

Stupid phone, stupid song, stupid morning.

* * *

 

Thomas dragged himself to lunch around noon. On Fridays, the dining hall near his dorm served some  _ great _ burgers. He really liked them!

What else did he like? Some delicious fucking  _ answers. _

And unluckily for the man in question, Hercules had made the poor decision to come and eat lunch.

He slammed his plate down on his table with a little more force than planned and winced when Hercules gave him a weird look. He hadn’t meant to confront the guy like he was on the verge of snapping and dumping his drink over the man’s head, but he was frustrated. A little quieter than before, Thomas sat down across the table from Hercules.

A pause, about as silent as it could get in a lunchroom filled with dozens and dozens of people. Then, Hercules’s eye twitched, and he grimaced, “Are you okay?”

“Why don’t you use your focus and find out...” Thomas muttered in reply, less of a question and more of a challenge, a statement. Or was it? Maybe, instead, it was only a suggestion. A way to start a conversation saying: I’m confused, and I’m annoyed, and I want you to help me.

Hercules snorted, and Thomas wasn’t sure why he was finding it so funny. “I may have omitted some truths, but I’m not much of a liar.” Okay…? “So believe me when I say I really  _ don’t _ use my powers on you too often. Or ever, really.” He lowered his voice just a tad, glancing around, but no one had sat down too near them. When Thomas didn’t give a witty reply in response, Hercules rolled his eyes, propping his chin up in one palm and asking, “Alright. With that out of the way, be straight with me. What do you want?”

Thomas grasped at words, trying to articulate his annoyance. “I just want to know more about what I’m in for. I didn’t exactly grow up surrounded by this stuff like you guys were.” Like Alex was. 

The other man shrugged, appearing a little offended at the partial accusation. Idly, Hercules picked at his lunch; he had gone to the deli station and grabbed a turkey sandwich and a bag of chips. After a pause, Thomas elected to do the same, picking up his burger and taking a bite. Hercules, conversely, pushed his bag of chips aside. “I didn’t ‘grow up surrounded’ by magic. My parents don’t even know about this.”

His parents didn’t know. As weird as that seemed, Thomas supposed he could believe it. While Thomas was almost positive his father had  _ some _ sort of magic, just like him -- and there was always the case of the gold-eyed woman and her blue-eyed child to add some additional support of familial relationships -- it was probably still common for a child with magic to be born to parents without them. And like Hercules said, how would you explain that to your parents? Thomas’ mother and sister certainly didn’t know any of what was going on; even if they had suspected something was up with his father (and his other sister, Jane), Mary had been vehement that she wanted nothing more to do with that “old junk.” “Does anyone’s parents know?”

Hercules considered for a moment, taking a bite of his sandwich. Thomas used the opportunity to work on scarfing down the rest of his burger. “Well, it’s kinda complicated,” Hercules admitted, drumming his fingertips on the table and refusing proper eye contact. “Alexander’s case aside, we have John, and he moved states for college, so even if they did know -- I mean, he’s got a big family, surely one of his siblings has magic -- it wouldn’t matter since they’re so far away. Then, there’s Laf -- and his parents probably knew. Not gonna give you the whole story, but, uh...everyone here seems to have parental problems -- again, why do you think John moved so far away? But anyway, yeah, Laf’s parents...are dead. And we can only brainstorm why.”

_ And we can only brainstorm why _ . Alex’s mother was dead and his father wasn’t coming back, although Alexander himself seemed in denial of that fact. Sounded like this was a dangerous profession.

And yet everyone seemed to be ignoring that bit of it all, too! “Okay- one last thing. And be honest with me.”

“Hm?” Hercules glanced up.

“What you said the other night -- talking up how cool all this is, all the incredible things you see, how magic is just so amazing...how much of that is all there is to know. I’ll believe it that you didn’t lie, but my first encounter with anything ‘magical’ beyond seeing Alexander in his bird form was running into that monster. You can’t convince me I drew the one short stick in a pool of a million!”

Hercules winced, giving a thick swallow as he struggled to find words in reply. “Well, uh-”

Footsteps, and then  _ Aaron _ of all people slapped a thick manila folder down onto the table, soon followed by a plate as he sat down. “Hey, you guys.”

A bit withdrawn, Hercules instead concluded his statement with, “And in any case, we probably shouldn’t be talking about it here.” 

Thomas sighed, muttering his agreements, and Burr huffed, “You know, Thomas, I haven’t talked to you for like a week. You and James and I should hang out more.”

“I- gah, right. Yeah,” Thomas winced. He wasn’t even the best of friends with Aaron, but he still talked to and hung out with the guy now and then...

Aaron sighed and shrugged, a tired and uncaring look to him, likely due to sleep deprivation if the bags under his eyes had anything to do with it. For all the wonders and horrors that magic seemed to present, for some people, a normal college life still existed, and it was still rough.

Thomas tipped his head, glancing down at the folder. Most of the papers were tucked neatly inside the folder, but a few peeked out from the edges, exposing the edge of a drawing finished in bold, black lines. Aaron had begun to dig into his meal, but paused, glancing between Thomas’ gaze and what he was looking at. “Oh! Yeah, I’m taking this creative elective thing as a general education credit. If you guys wanted to see some of my stuff. Uh, you’re...Hercules, right? I was Alexander’s roommate last semester.” Aaron was smiling pleasantly. A little too upbeat for the mood of the rest of the table -- Hercules grimaced, but tried to keep a smile on his face.

“Uh, sure, I’ll check it out,” Thomas answered, idly playing with the rim of his cup. “Let’s see ‘em.” If he sounded bored, it wasn’t because that was how he felt. More so, he was frustrated how quickly his life was being spun between digging deeper for more secrets to reveal and remembering that he still had a regular life to live, and if only they knew-!

He just wanted to sit down and have a conversation without being interrupted. Was that too much to ask?

Aaron brushed a few pictures toward him, most of them done in bold colors -- some were pencil, some were charcoal, and a good number had been done in pen. Coloring-wise, mostly markers and pastels. Most of them were scenery, too; he picked up a paper that had been covered with the rendition of a grassy field dotted with tiny white flowers. “Damn,” he managed out.

Yeah. He really did regret ignoring his friends. He and Jemmy especially were going to sit down one day soon and just chill out like they used to do, because they  _ were _ friends, dammit! James was his  _ best _ friend, in fact. And Aaron was an alright guy too, he guessed. And Hercules -- although he didn’t know the guy well -- was too, even if he seemed reluctant to tell Thomas the full extent of what was going on. But that was okay!

Because he was hanging out with Alexander, soon, and the experience alone might answer a couple questions he had been hanging onto.

At least, he hoped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, don't forget we have a blog for TJINCOFM where you can ask general questions or talk to the characters! It's linked just down below! Anyways-
> 
> Ew, I hate that I had to miss two weekends for this. So, what's going on? Well, remember how I said that TJINCOFM is being turned into an actual book? Well, that's still going on! I actually caught up to this fanfiction in terms of how far I've written in the book being based off this fanfic, so expect updates to become MORE frequent now that I can go back to putting more time/focus into this fanfiction!
> 
> Beyond that, I've just been kinda busy in general with college stuff and all that, haha. But I still really love TJINCOFM and am still here and having fun with it -- can't really escape it. So here we go! Oh, and just a little note-
> 
> I am EXTREMELY excited for the next few chapters. ;D


	15. The Movie

For what felt like the first time in a week, Thomas actually managed to concentrate on his classwork, pushing thoughts of demons and monsters and magic aside after his brief run-in with Hercules during lunch. Since it was a Friday, he didn’t have class with Alexander, and it wasn’t until he got back to his dorm after an early dinner that he thought to check his phone -- but when he did, sure enough, Alex had sent him a text.

> _ Yo. _

An eyebrow raised, Thomas dropped back onto his bed. Idly, he replied:

> _ Hey? _

While waiting for Alex’s response, he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. A moment later, his phone screen lit up again.

> _ Wanna come over around 6? To hang out. I’ll meet you at the door to the dorms and let you in. Watch a movie or something. _

Tonight. Well, he didn’t mind. Sometimes he went out with friends on Fridays, but not every weekend (after all, there wasn’t much to do here, nor in the nearby town -- Hell, tons of people, if they could help it, went home on the weekends). Texting with one hand, he responded with a dash of excess enthusiasm:

> _ Sure! _

* * *

When the time came to head out, Thomas grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet, yanked on his hoodie, and decided he was good to go. He probably didn’t need anything else, considering he was just going over to hang out with Alex -- and the guy hadn’t suggested he needed anything in particular. 

A few minutes later, and Thomas crossed the space between their dorm buildings, shuddering from the cold. He had foregone bringing his cloak, but was starting to regret that. The crunch of gravel beneath his shoes soon faded to the thump of his footsteps on wood; he raised his fist to knock on the door, hoping someone would bother to let him in so that he didn’t have to wait for Alex.

Hand poised in the air, his plan must have worked -- because before he even bothered to knock, someone opened the entrance door.

“Hey, Thomas! Right on time.” It was Alex.

Thomas dropped his hand to his side, fingertips falling against his thigh. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Hey.” The cold air around him seemed to be sucked inside; Alex shuddered despite the thick hoodie he seemed to have thrown on over his own regular clothes. He looked cold -- colder than Thomas, at least. After a pause, Alex waved for him to come in, and Thomas stepped across the threshold and inside.

They began up the stairs, Alex trailing his hand over the metal railing as he hopped his way up. At the top of the stairs, they took a right, walking down to the end of the hallway. Alexander pushed open the door on the very end, leading into a small room with a single window that...resembled Thomas’ room, at least at a basic level. He vaguely recalled someone -- probably Burr -- mentioning that he and Alexander had shared a room previously, but no longer did. Considering Alex’s association with Washington, Thomas had a feeling the latter had somehow pulled a few strings to make sure Alex has his own space to freely use his magic. Honestly, knowing Burr, he probably didn’t care in the slightest. But hey, gotta be discreet if you’re a shapeshifter, right?

As he had noted, the layout was the standard twin bed, desk, and wardrobe (Alex’s room didn’t seem to have it’s own bathroom, although Thomas could smugly attribute that to himself being a junior, where Alexander was not). What he noticed beyond that was more interesting, though…

The room was sparsely decorated, for starters, but managed to waver between “cheap and unruly” and “strange and out of place.” It looked like Alex had, at some point, grabbed something donated to the antique shop Martha Washington won, and slapped it on something else he had grabbed off the curb, to put it nicely.

Then there were the little things that made the room feel like “Alex.” There were little red and brown feathers tacked to a corkboard, bound together with twine. There was a little ladder leading up to the windowsill, the type one might buy for a parrot to walk around on -- Thomas smiled at that.Yes, this was Alex’s room.

Beyond that, the room appeared to be doing the most it could to maximize the space available (not that there was much, as a dorm room)...by being bare. Not in the “trapped by a serial killer” sense, more so that its occupant had been given a space to customize, but had never done anything to make it feel less blank, past the feathers and bird ladder. There wasn’t even anything else on the corkboard -- well, there was a paper with a class syllabus; that was about it. There was his bed shoved up against one wall, a pretty quilt strewn across it patterned with tiny white flowers and golden fall leaves, but it appeared haphazardly made. There was the desk crammed opposite the bed, Alex’s backpack dropped beside it and one of his binders from class tossed onto the tabletop. Thomas was once again reminded that Alex was smart -- he must really be thriving at their school, taking harder classes and learning as much as he could and still managing to balance that with everything that came with having  _ magic _ . After all, the guy still seemed to be acing ornithology without ever actually being awake for their classes.

Alex strode into the room, dropping down onto his bed. Thomas paused, a bit awkwardly, but finally sat down gingerly, not wanting to sprawl across such a fancy blanket and ruin it (he’d probably manage somehow, knowing himself). When he received a strange look at that, Thomas grimaced in awkward discomfort and blurted out, “Uh, so, nice room you’ve got. Must be nice to have a place to yourself.”

“Aren’t you in a single-person room, too?” Alex replied, one eyebrow raised, but he eventually allowed a small smile of admission to grow over his lips. “But- nah, you’re right. Between sharing a tiny house with the whole rest of my family and then getting thrown into the foster system with even  _ more _ kids in the household, I’m fucking ecstatic at the thought of a space to myself.”

“Guess so…” Thomas agreed, thinking. He still didn’t quite get how Alex had ended up in Virginia, but was beginning to piece together a bigger picture. “I’m glad you think this is a nice place, though.” He dropped back into the bed; shutting his eyes. “‘Cause in my experience, it’s pretty boring here. Not a shocker that this school never took off; all it’s got going for it is slightly less shitty student loans than the other schools in the area. Not that there are many options to pick from.”

A weight on the bed shifted as Alex adjusted how he was sitting. “What can I say? It’s quiet and open and it’s got my friends -- friends with magic, where no one questions it if I want to use my own powers when they’re so integral to who I am. So...I like it here.”

And Thomas laughed, because he really couldn’t argue with that. “Okay, man.” He sat up, feeling the little patterns on the quilt as smooth bumps beneath his palms. He was  _ really _ hoping now that he didn’t ruin any of it on accident, popping out stitches or whatever just by sitting on it weird. “Well, I’m here, and we’re hanging out. So what’re we up to?” He wanted to start out with his questions, but Alex  _ had _ invited him. The least he could do was be nice and relax with someone who, to an extent,  _ was _ one of his friends. Well- kinda. He could be an annoying bastard sometimes, but he didn’t mind him  _ too _ much these days. Actually kinda enjoyed his presence, a little bit. Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “You, uh, you mentioned a movie?”

“Sure, if you want to,” Alex replied, acting as though he absolutely hadn’t been planning a movie night -- after all, he had been the first to bring it up. “Got some fun stuff to watch if you’re down for that; I can hook up one of those little external DVD drives to my laptop and pop something in.”

“Only if it’s something good,” Thomas added. “Or...like, tastefully bad.”

Alex laughed. “I’ve got a couple like that, but they’re not in English, sorry man. Laf dumped them on me. Turns out French comedies can get pretty...questionable.” He dropped down to the floor, sliding off the bedspread, and for the first time, Thomas properly noticed what he was wearing -- normal jeans, some long-sleeved shirt, and socks, but no shoes; the guy had already ditched them without Thomas even noticing. Looked like that was becoming a pretty standard look for Alex, though. 

Thomas noted that the other teen’s shoes were dropped beside his dresser, and he stood up, kicking his shoes off beside Alex’s. “Technically, I took two whole semesters of French.” After a pause, he added, “I almost failed them both, though. Vocabulary isn’t my strong suit. Too much memorization.”

Alex smiled. “Eh, I tested out of my foreign language requirements.”

Thomas thought back to something he’d been pondering a while back, before he knew where Alex was from -- that Alex had always kept a slight accent, but never one strong enough to make someone assume his first language wasn’t English. “So you’re bilingual? Parents spoke both, or…?”

“Eh, more that I just have a trace of the local dialect, although I’m pretty good at mimicking accents when I want to. But- ah, yeah. Worked for a time at a port where you had people from all parts of the world showing up, and my family tree is a disaster,” he laughed. “I’ve got little bits of scottish dialects, I’ve got a tiny amount of Hebrew but I’m pretty smooth with French; Dutch, too. Grew up with English and the local creole. And, eh, greetings and stuff in other languages. That was mostly just from the people I meet, though -- and honestly, it’s not like I’m perfectly fluent in  _ all _ of them.”

Thomas blinked at him, then huffed, then crossed his arms, and then he burst out laughing. “God, you surprise me sometimes. But anyway-” he shook his head, “Movies?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexander laughed back, and he kneeled down under his bed to drag out a cardboard box, sifting through it. Thomas’s lips crooked into a frown as he saw it contained many of the personal possessions the room seemed to be lacking -- books, scrap papers, little things. His concentration was broken as Alex chucked a DVD case at him, making him yelp and duck. Alex gave him a sneering grin, but asked, “What kinda thing are you down for? I don’t have any really old films, but I’ve got some action stuff, sci-fi...fantasy, whatever. Live-action, animation, all that.”

Thomas dropped down beside Alex, falling to his knees to pick through the movies. There weren’t all that many, but those that were seemed to be practically any genre -- idly, he wondered if people dropped old movies off at the antique shop, too. Not really antiques, to be fair, but he guessed it was still a free movie. “What about this one?” He pulled out one DVD case that looked a little happier than the others, featuring a colorful scene with a girl standing beneath the title. “This looks kinda cool, I guess.”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s not a bad movie.” Alex stooped down to dig around in the box, pulling out a little DVD drive with a thick cord. “Plug this into the computer on the desk -- want some popcorn or something? There’s a microwave in the common area.”

“Sounds good,” Thomas amicably agreed. Alex shot him a thumbs-up and kicked the box back into place under his bed. A few seconds later, he was out the door. Thomas pushed himself up to his feet, making his way over to Alex’s desk. It looked like Alex had one of the dinky little netbooks; cheap, but as long as you weren’t doing anything too intensive, they worked. He plugged the cord in, waiting for the laptop’s screen to turn on and the DVD drive to hum awake.

As he was fiddling with the cable to try and get it to register with the computer, something buzzed against the wood of the desk, making him jump. Half-shutting the laptop again to get a look at whatever it was, he saw the culprit of the noise -- Alex’s phone. It was an older smartphone with a dinky case; Thomas wondered if you could even get a replacement case for those phones anymore. But whatever the details of the situation, it was Alexander’s phone, and he had left it there.

Thomas wasn’t one to snoop through another’s phone, especially considering even  _ Thomas _ didn’t keep world-shattering secrets on his phone. But he did scoop it up off the table, if only to throw it on the bed so it made less noise.

In his hand, it buzzed again, and Thomas moved to set it aside -- pausing at the sight of the lock screen background. Alex, and someone else, crammed into the frame, both smiling. Checking that Alex hadn’t gotten back (really, how would he have in such a short time?), he clicked the phone back on. It returned to the lock screen asking for a password, and swiped away from that to the next screen, ignoring the text notifications to instead get a better look at the background.

It was Alex, albeit appearing a few years younger, maybe eleven or twelve, and the woman from Thomas’ dream (memory?). It was her; it had to be -- she had that same shawl looped around her neck and shoulders, and had her long hair swept back just as the woman had kept hers, but she looked older than she had in his dream. She was smiling in the photo, just like Alex was, but her eyes had a sleepy tint to them, as though she had long since reached any conclusions she was destined to ever make. But her irises -- just as before, they were a bright gold.

And Alex’s eyes were blue.

“I’m back!” Alexander declared, bursting through the door. By the time he was fully in the room, Thomas had dropped the other student’s phone back to the table and was back to fiddling with the cable.

“That was quick,” he observed, almost stumbling on his words.  _ You did nothing wrong -- that was his lock screen, not some photo in the depths of a secret gallery _ . “Also, your cable’s busted.” Blue eyes. Alex was the woman’s -- Rachel, or something similar, was her name -- son. Well, he knew that already, considering they had the same last name. But what that really confirmed was that he had once had light eyes turned dark; Thomas could officially table any other theories.

“Mn, yeah, let me check it out.” Alex handed him a bowl and went to mess with the cord. Thomas tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

The two settled down to watch the movie.

* * *

They ended up on the floor. Well, the computer was on the floor, and Thomas had plopped down in front of it. Alex remained on the bed, but had leaned backwards so that his legs were splayed across the mattress, his head and chest falling off the edge. Considering Alex was effectively rendered upside down, Thomas had asked, “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“A little,” Alex had replied, and that was that. If anything, Thomas was more surprised that Alex hadn’t switched into his hawk form, but figured that he was only doing it for the sake of eating popcorn. With an added quiet shrug, Alex lifted his phone to his eyes, flipping past the lock screen to answer a text. In the background, the movie continued, the exposition over as the plot picked up.

“How long have you had that phone?” Thomas asked, glancing up at Alex.

The other teen answered with a quiet, “Hm?” and then a moment later seemed to have registered his words, humming back, “Oh. For a few years; got it back when I lived in Nevis and never found a reason for a replacement. It’s- uh, it’s kinda funny, but I figured out that I could shapeshift with stuff in my pockets because of it. But only, like, small things in tight pockets, not cargo pants. Still haven’t figured out a solution to the shoes problem.” His gaze shifted from staring up at the ceiling to looking at the laptop screen again.“But, it...doesn’t really matter. Besides, you’re missing the movie.” He jerked his chin towards the screen.

Thomas wanted to pay attention to the movie, at least since it started out relatively bright and positive, but his focus waned as his thoughts drifted. Casandra’s eyes had been an unnatural gold, while Alex’s eyes had been blue. Now, they were brown. Thomas was starting to piece it together -- the burst of golden light behind him as he ran from the monster, the soft glow of the house in his dream. The hawk’s eyes, a pale gold.

Alex’s magic had changed the color of his eyes -- but considering the dull brown they had become compared to his mother’s, to what extent Alex’s powers reached had yet to be determined. Thomas’ eyes certainly hadn’t changed in the slightest, so he had little else to compare Alex’s case to, and his most certain experience with Alex’s power was when the hawk had attacked that monster. Then, there was the dream Alex had mentioned, of a dark forest, and Thomas wasn’t sure what pathways thinking about that would lead him down.

Death. That’s probably what it would lead too -- to staring the Grim Reaper in the eyes and being the first to blink.

Shifting in discomfort, Thomas decided he was not particularly interested in staying on the floor any longer, and loudly announced that, grabbing Alex’s laptop and heaving it and himself onto the bed. Alex grumbled as he was forced to move, but allowed Thomas onto the bed, their knees bumping against the other’s and their sides pressed together, certainly warmer than the cool air seeping in through the closed window just past the bed. It was admittedly comfortable, but a bit of an awkward position to be in.

Even worse, while the movie case had  _ definitely _ looked like some sort of bright, fun fantasy, the movie seemed to be turning into horror more than anything else. Oh, of course, the main character had begun her journey like a normal girl and had walked back and forth and around again making it clear she was dissatisfied with a “boring” life like any other protagonist.

Thomas wasn’t satisfied, but he had every right to feel that way. Why should he be happy that his father and sister had died and his family was torn apart? At the same time, he wasn’t going to throw on a dress, flip his hair over his shoulder, and proclaim that he was desperate for love and a place in the big city. He had just wanted to get out of his dreary and depressing home and find somewhere that made him happier.

Except now, he had the added burden of being forced to glance over his shoulder as he walked, certain that something else would be lurking in wait.

Waiting to make Thomas end up just like his sister and father.

Now, the girl from the film was running through trees and old hillsides, and Thomas’ fingertips gripped his thigh at the prospect that she would die. He wasn’t even that invested in it -- he wasn’t much of a “movie” person, much less things like this, despite having been the one to pick it out. It meant nothing to him, and yet…

On the screen, the girl whirled around to come face to face with the monster chasing her, and Thomas blurted out, “Alex. I have to talk to you about something.”

“In the middle of the movie? Why can’t we-”

Thomas smacked at the computer keyboard, pausing the film; Alex flinched at the sudden movement. On the screen, the girl was an instant away from disaster, watching danger loom before her. A monster with a skeletal body and distorted face sneered. “That-” he spat. “Real, honest-to-God monsters. You- you can claim all you want that magic is incredible, makes you happy, balances out the bad with the good experiences you get from it- but I...I’m scared, I’m weak, whatever. But that’s the truth -- I can’t stop thinking about what I saw. That monster. And while it may sound crazy, I dunno if I want to go out risking my life just to say I’ve seen bigfoot!” But did he even had a choice now? Like it or not, there came a point in time where doing nothing was worse than taking a stand, and he was starting to realize that each magician had a plastic baggie full of puzzle pieces, and alone, not one could solve for the full picture on the front of the box.

Alex was silent, and then, he sighed and looked away. Thomas noticed that Alex’s hair was pressed in odd directions from where he had been laying down across the bed, before he had sat up to be beside Thomas. “You’re right.”

“I- I am? What?”

“I dunno how to be more clear than that, man. You’re right -- you shouldn’t have to make a choice without the full facts, and you shouldn’t be deceived into risking your life. But when it comes down to it, five teens and a couple of adults against one monster? We’ll know if we’re in way over our heads, and there _is_ a risk, but so long as we watch each other’s backs, we’ll be okay. Not everything that’s magical is evil, Thomas, although magic can be dangerous, and that’s why we’re here -- to make things safer, to take care of loose ends, and to make _ourselves_ stronger. You can suppress your magic all you want, but all you’ll succeed in is watching everything spiral even further out of control.” Alex glanced towards the window. With the lights on inside, it had gone dark, showing a pale reflection of the two of them in its glossy panes. Thomas’ face was caught in the shadow of the lamp behind him, and Alex’s face was the same as ever, but for an instant, Thomas thought he saw something spark within them, something wild and electric seen only in the image of a mirror a mile away.  
“Right...” he sighed. “Right.”

“And hey,” Alex added. “Magicians can die of natural causes, too. Don’t get too excited -- I don’t get the best feeling thinking about raising you from the dead.”

* * *

They finished watching the movie. It had a happy ending, which made Thomas feel a little better.

When the film was over, Alex sighed and shut his laptop, leaning back to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. His eyes were shut, and he appeared relaxed and comfortable. “Well. There we go -- movie done,” he mumbled. “It’s been a blast hanging out with you, despite your mental breakdown halfway through the movie, but I think it’s bedtime now.”

“Uh- right,” Thomas agreed, shifting slightly where he sat. He was a little offended that Alex would call it a “mental breakdown,” but to each their own. Still, seeing a chance to tease Alex in reply (wasn’t that all their relationship had been up until a week ago), he put on his most insufferable smirk (with that expression, he wondered how  _ anyone _ liked him) and chuckled, “Uh, but I can only do so much to give you space when you’re literally snugglin’ up ‘gainst my shoulder. Though if that’s your version of an invitation-”

That was enough to snap Alex out of his thoughts, because he jerked away from Thomas all of a sudden, flushing. “Shit- sorry.” Thomas blinked, having more expected that Alex demand an apology from  _ him _ , not the other way around. “I’m- I’m a very touchy-feely physical person; I really didn’t even think about what I was doing. I...yeah, sorry.”

Thomas smiled weakly, then shook his head, “That was a joke. It’s really fine, so long you don’t have a jealous boyfriend coming after me.” Hadn’t Alex said he was bi or something, or was Thomas just imagining that? Whatever the case, Alex didn’t comment on that, simply admitting he didn’t have anyone who’d do that, so Thomas was in the clear. Still, though, Thomas was getting kicked out so Alex could get some sleep in peace.

At the door, Alex hesitated, and then sighed. “Uh...hey. There’s something I should probably ask you.” 

Thomas paused in turn, his fingers wrapped around the handle. It was barely cool to the touch -- it was only the door into the dorm hallway, after all, not to the outdoors. “Yeah?”

Nudging at the floor with his feet, Alex mumbled, “You might wanna leave your phone’s sound on tonight. Just, uh, in case something comes up. Kinda got a weird feeling tonight about it all, y’know?”

At what point did a hunch become reality? “I will,” Thomas promised, mind flashing with thoughts of the evening. “I will,” he repeated, this time more forcefully. “But no promises I’ll wake up.”

“I’ll accept that much.”

And a minute later, Thomas stepped out of the building, heading back across the lawn to his own place.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, it was of his own accord, stirring and sitting up with a tired groan. The sun had already risen, sending harsh lines of gold peeking through his bedroom window, and he rubbed his eyes.

No phone call. Maybe Thomas had been too assuming after all in Alex’s message.

By the time he was dressed and fully awake, he considered going to the dining hall for breakfast, but decided nothing much sounded good at this hour of the morning. Beyond that, his mind was reeling -- with his own worries of things that couldn’t quite be, with what Alex had explained to him, and with what he feared came of the future.

He couldn’t stay here.

He was already dressed, so forgoing a jacket, he toed on his tennis shoes and threw his cloak over one arm.

His reasoning for wearing shoes was that he had no reason to sneak out of his window in the middle of the day, nor did he want anyone to see him go. Beyond that, he was planning to be out for a while, and didn’t want his room to get too cold. Feeling a rush of cool air wash over him, he stepped away from the doors to his dorm and rounded the building, brown grass and dry leaves crunching underfoot.

Once he was a decent walk past the building and into the woods (carefully avoiding where he had encountered that monster), he tossed his shoes aside and peeled off his socks. The leaves were rough beneath his feet and he was thankful to have no such worries of delicate skin in his bird form, sweeping the cloak across his shoulders and pulling the hood over his head.

This was the first time he’d go out in daylight, not to mention the first time he’d fly alone. The last time he’d even gone through the woods in daylight was...when the monster attacked him.

Feeling bolder as an owl (albeit having to squint and half-shut his eyes in the bright light), he spread his wings. Time to go. He threw himself away from the ground and flapped, feeling the air catch beneath his wings and drag at his feathers, and he was off, the sensation, the action, becoming more familiar and natural with every passing day. But where was he off to? Lifting past the treeline, he twisted his head, staring at the ground below. It really did look so much different in daylight, beyond it simply being sunny. Rather than seeing the ends of the Earth shrouded in darkness, as his home shrunk beneath him, he watched the horizon disappear into the blue haze of far-off cities and towns.

Virginia was, for the most part, covered in forest. He forgot the exact statistics, but considering the rural county he lived in, apart from small yards sliced out of the woods, the landscape was covered in trees. Everything was flat and stretched beneath him for miles and miles on end.

A short flight past the edge of campus was a group of large fields. They were owned by a few farmers who had bought up the large, historic farmhouses and built cow pastures and corn fields around them. More importantly, the sweeping fields started at a soft forest’s edge and grew taller as they stretched up a hill, finally coming to a peak in the center of it all with a stand of trees at the tallest point.

He landed on a thick branch of one that appeared capable of supporting a young adult’s weight. Then, calling on everything he’d learned thus far (particularly that first time he crashed into a tree), he spread his wings out wide and flapped to slow his descent, landing on a heavy branch and sinking his talons into the wood. Finally, he hopped closer to the trunk, turning to settle on the branch and wrapping one wing around the trunk the best he could.

He reached up towards his face and pulled the cloak back from his eyes, and with that he was a human once more, sitting on a tree branch and clinging to the trunk with one arm. The cold felt more pronounced up here, even though he logically knew he was less than a hundred feet in the air. He’d gone higher as a bird, but man was not meant to fly without assistance, and he clutched the bark, finding it rough against his fingers.

He was a random boy sitting dozens of feet up in a tree, wearing a strange cloak but no shoes or socks or gloves to ward off the chill. He tugged the collar of his cloak a bit higher, finding it warm and soft.

Escapism at its finest.

He sighed, leaning back against the tree. His fingers still gripped the branch and trunk so hard they were turning sore -- in his human form, he was painfully aware of how easily he could fall -- but if nothing else, it provided something bold and grounding to focus on.

He stared out at the landscape surrounding him. Up so high, the landscape rolled beneath him, and he pressed his cheek against the rough bark of the trunk.

He was a coward, wasn’t he? Checking for danger before running in even when he knew he had no choice but to walk forward. Facing weird feelings and doubts about it all, and running away to sit in a tree to escape.

Another sigh, and he turned his gaze towards the horizon. The world looked small when the round globe sat beneath him, and he watched the hills grow higher into the sky as they swept into the Blue Ridge Mountains off at the edges of his view. They were blue. So, so blue, cool and bright, rather than the burning golds and static blacks he was becoming worrying accustomed to.

Why were they called the Blue Ridge? Weren’t all mountains blue when seen from so far away? He couldn’t imagine anything different, had never seen anything to the contrary. As far as he remembered, he had never left Virginia, never learned of anything different.

As far as he remembered, he had never gone to the Caribbean, and yet-

Had never learned of anything -- of magic, of monsters-  
A focus. He couldn’t focus, mind whirling with thoughts-

Eventually, when the cold chill nipped too strong at his toes and made his eyes water, he flew home. Clouds had begun to creep along the edges of the skies, darkening the world around him enough that he was no longer squinting and wincing and pitching in his flight through glaring light, but was instead slowly sweeping homebound. Tiny droplets of rainwater fell and sprinkled over his feathers, dappling him with little dark spots.

Not long after, he arrived back at campus once more.

And honestly, he felt a little better.

* * *

Let it be known to the world that Thomas was not a terrible student. He wasn’t a  _ great _ student by any means, but he at least got his work done.

And that was the rest of his Saturday -- putting some or another song on in the background and sitting down to finish up some stuff. He went to the dining hall and got a sandwich. He hated sandwiches.

He considered going out to fly one more time, but late that evening, the rain picked up. It stormed, droplets pelting his home, and like a scared child who ran to bundle beneath the covers, he could have sworn he heard something scraping at the window.

Every time his phone buzzed, he jumped and ran to check it out -- but it was only the usual antics of his friends. Burr was complaining about the rain. Jemmy said he thought it was nice. Aaron countered that it was wet. James asked if he had ever heard of “water” before.

Those were his friends, and they were no different than normal.

Thomas fell asleep.

And he slipped right into another dream.

* * *

The dream world was changing.

He stumbled for the path, but this time, rather than feeling damp mud beneath his feet, he dropped into a thick, gooey liquid that swirled around his feet. He shoved himself up as he tripped into the muck, wiping at this arms and leaving dark streaks were the substance stained his skin.

Spiny branches snapped at his chest as he pushed himself through the forest. The shadowy creature was nowhere to be seen, but he was certain they sat in wait, watching him in alarm.

When he followed the path- no, the stream- and returned to the pond, it was in chaos. Something rumbled and rattled beneath the liquid, and he rushed closer to try and calm the churning waters.

And then, something glinting white in the smoky haze of the dream world forest burst from the pond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, TJINCOFM is organized into four unequal-length parts, a prologue, and an epilogue. The next chapter will be our segue into part three -- which is where things really start coming together! And that next chapter is mostly written already; I only have a little more editing to do there.
> 
> Thomas and Alex are really starting to get along! They can still definitely get under each other's skin if they want to, but at least they can stand each other and work towards a common goal.
> 
> Alex is a physical guy. He likes hugging others, holding hands, all of that, platonically and romantically. Definitely catches from flack for that from certain people in rural Virginia, but what else can you do? Thomas is just a confused guy. He doesn't know what he's doing, ever, and really, his argument about mountains being blue is very valid.


	16. The Call

Thomas was yanked back into the waking world with the sound of his phone’s shrill ringing blaring in his ears. Bleary-eyed and with a head still stuffed with the haze of sleep, he rubbed at his temples and fumbled for his phone, trying to silence it. _Why_ had he followed Alex's advice? He was tired, barely registering the string of numbers on the screen before accepting the call and pressing the phone against his ear. “Hello?” If this was a spam call that had woken him up in the middle of the night, he was _personally_ going to wring Alex’s little feathery neck.

“Thomas!” It was Hercules’s voice calling from the other side of the line. 

 _That_ was enough to snap Thomas out of his tired stupor, and he managed to wake his mouth up enough to formulate, “Ah- uh, what?” He noticed how chilly the air was around his shoulders and grasped at his blankets, weakly pulling them a bit higher -- although considering he was sitting up and they were tangled around his legs, that didn’t do much.

“Man, get up. Like, _now_. Antique shop as quick as you can get there; door’ll be unlocked.”

“Wait- uh, hold on, wha…?” Thomas choked out, rubbing at his eyes and checking the time: 4:29 AM. “Dude, what’s going on?”

“Lafayette found one,” Hercules gasped from the other side of the line. “That’s his magic -- sensing these sorts of things. He says there’s something out there, in the woods around town! So get the fuck up and drag yourself over here or _so help me-_ ”

Thomas hung up on him, tossing his phone onto his bedsheets and throwing himself to his feet, the blankets tangling and catching at him as he stumbled upright. His legs hadn’t yet caught up to the waking world, it seemed, as they nearly buckled beneath him and he threw out his hands to keep from pitching forward and busting his nose on the wall.

His limbs were jittery with anxiety. This was it. All those weak reassurances must have been thrown at him _and_ still stuck, because he was _excited._ He was going to do it.

He pulled on a pair of jeans. Those were fit for cold weather, right? No big deal. He grabbed his hoodie after that, so caught up in the thrill of going somewhere, _doing something_ , that he nearly left his cloak behind -- and without his cloak, as far as the other members of their little squad were concerned, he was irrelevant when it came to magic. Useless, a nobody. Besides, if he really couldn’t handle the cold as it was...well, that’s what turning into an owl was for.

Phone, check. Keys, check. Cloak, check. Painfully aware of how much noise he must have been making stomping around (hey, better than a fire alarm after some hungover dipshit burned their ramen at 2 AM, right?), he rushed out of his room and to the back door. After all, this was a limited time offer!

Did he need something else? Probably. A water bottle, or a snack or something. Was he going to bring anything else? Nope.

He stepped outside and closed the door behind him; it locked automatically once more.

Time to go.

* * *

When he pulled into the antique shop, the usual procession was there -- John’s car, what must have been Lafayette’s car, and what he guessed was Martha’s vehicle (it looked like an older, small-ish vehicle). Of the six spaces in the parking lot, the fourth was filled by a truck. Thomas pulled into the sixth.

The moment he stepped out of his vehicle he was ushered inside by John, who looked jumpy and tense and excited and _way_ too full of energy for it not even being five in the morning yet. Thomas didn’t even drink coffee, but he should have made some, if only to be able to keep up with the other student.

Inside, the front room was as abandoned as ever. At any point was it filled with anything but dusty old junk? Thomas could imagine Alex, if no one else, having fun flitting about the tall stacks of furniture.

And in the backrooms, it was lively. Well, lively was perhaps not the best word -- rather, the room everyone had chosen to gather in was buzzing with static and filled to the brim with energy. Lafayette was in the center of it all, and when John entered with Thomas in tow, the exchange student opened his mouth to greet them when Washington -- this was the first time Thomas had seen _everyone_ together, including Washington and Martha, wasn’t it? -- rapped on the table, drawing Lafayette’s attention back to the matter at hand. Thomas stretched to get a better look at what they were doing, one eyebrow raised.

They were gathered around the table as before, but this time, the top had been covered in a large, sprawling map -- it looked like some kind of old road map, maybe.

“Hey, y’all, quiet down,” Washington started in the sort of voice a teacher used when their class wouldn’t stop talking. “Let him concentrate.” Washington nodded to Lafayette, who took a deep breath and straightened up once more. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Lafayette said, at first as if trying to convince himself he was just that, before repeating, “Yes, I am ready.”

Thomas opened his mouth to ask what he was ready for, before getting a look from Hercules and shutting it. Right, let him concentrate.

Lafayette took a deep breath before standing up straight over the table. He pulled the glass lens -- something like a monocle -- from his sleeve (like an illusionist, a stage magician, no doubt) and held it in a ring of his fingers.

Thomas leaned forward, dying to see it -- magic in _action_. Everyone had _talked_ about their magic, but beyond seeing Alexander attack that monster and transform between human and bird, Thomas had yet to witness magic in action.

Lafayette shut his eyes, first holding the lens up to one eye, and then sweeping it down to touch the paper, brushing it over the lines of the map.

Okay…? No too much of a sight, really-

Lafayette opened his eyes wide -- wider than a normal person would, wide enough to see where there should have been the tiniest details to his irises -- and his muscles were tense, and his eyes were blank and white, and they _glowed_ with a faint reflection of a forested landscape.

And...no one here seemed to view that as being anything other than normal.

“The land is okay, I think,” Lafayette began, and slowly, he dragged the lens over the paper. Thomas nudged his way past John, closer to the table, squinting to get a better look at the table. The scene in Lafayette’s eyes was reflected in the lens, showing an otherworldly, dark forest illuminated in shadowy light. “There is no...no destruction. Only...” He grimaced, and squinted despite being blind to the cozy room around him. “There are two.”

John’s brow furrowed, and Thomas saw him whisper -- mouth, really; his voice was so soft his words hardly reached Thomas’ ears -- “ _Two?_ ”

“What can you tell me about them?” Washington asked, face suspicious, thoughts racing. “We don’t usually see more than one at a time. We’re just unlucky, or…?”

Lafayette clenched his jaw, silent for several long moments, before managing out, “Euh...they are running together. I think...they are going in the same direction.” He took his free hand, searching the air until he found the table, blind and seeking. “They are fast. Going...southwest. No- sorry. Southeast. Here!” He stuck his pointer finger against the paper, then swept it along in a straight line. “Like this! This area.” He finished his motion off with circling a wide swath of forest.

Washington glanced at it, then lifted his chin. He was taller than most of the others in the room, and that little gesture seemed to rise him even higher than before. “Then we’ll head farther down and move northwest to meet them.”

John grinned, and smacked Lafayette on the back, the foreign student yelping and shaking his head as the glow faded from his eyes. He appeared disoriented for a moment, putting his weight against the table for a moment to gain his bearings, before meeting John’s eyes and smiling back.

“Well, let’s go,” John grinned.

The room burst into a flurry of movement, Thomas being dragged along outside with them. The sudden burst of cold for once didn’t seem to shock Alexander -- he was buzzing with energy, bouncing on his heels, as everyone else seemed to be doing the same.

Thomas stepped a bit to the side, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, and Alex wandered over to bump at his arm. “The Washingtons will be driving us; don’t bother grabbing your keys.” Thomas didn’t know how Alex had been able to so accurately predict what he was doing, but figured that he wasn’t being particularly secretive about it, and didn’t feel like thinking too hard on the matter in any case. 

“Who’s ridin’ shotgun in the truck?” John called out as they returned to the parking lot. 

Alex's head popped up and he started, “I’ll ride-”

Washington waved his hand, cutting the teen off with a, “Let Thomas ride with me so I can show him the ropes. Everyone else, pile in with Martha.”

Alex nodded towards Thomas. “There you go. Hop in the truck with Washington. I’ll see you there -- the fun doesn’t _really_ start until we’re out in the woods.”

That sounded a little worrying, to say the least.

* * *

Under normal circumstances, a quiet car (or truck ride, in this case) in the early hours of the morning would have lulled Thomas to sleep. After all, the world around him was dark, illuminated only by the little lights of the dashboard and the glow of headlights in front of him. Martha had somehow managed to squeeze herself and four teenagers into her own car, and was following a short distance behind them.

Thomas entwined his fingers then pulled his hands apart once more, then returned to fiddling with his hoodie. His cloak was strewn across his lap, the fabric feeling rougher than usual under his touch. Uncomfortably warm, he tugged his hoodie over his shoulders, it catching on the seatbelt as he struggled.

It wasn’t so quiet after all, was it? The silence was deafening. “Where are we going?” he finally asked, trying to glean a little more out of Washington than he previously could claim.

Washington let out a tiny huff of air. “We’re heading down this way to try and get further than whatever Lafayette spotted on the map, then get to work. Once we’re closer, you and Alex can go out to scout.”

The thought of being among the first to see whatever they were hunting in person scared him more than anything, but he gave a sharp nod. “I- uh, right. Right…”

Washington glanced at him quickly, then just as soon returned his gaze to the road before them, stretching and twirling through thick forest. “Any other time you’d be able to back out, but I can’t turn around now. Just stay back from anything we meet and you’ll stay safe. It’s like chasing after a rabid dog.”

Thomas didn’t have much experience with that, but conceded, replying with a short, “Alright.”

“And we’re glad to have you in any case,” the professor continued on. “If your real power is shapeshifting, you and Alex would be able to work together to grow in your abilities, and you can see in the dark, too.” _If your real power…?_ “If anything, I wish you’d’ve joined us earlier.”

“I mean, I only learned about magic existing...like, a week or two ago,” Thomas started to defend himself, before pausing and thinking, glancing down at the cloak on his lap. It was a dark, fluid shape, draped in the darkness of the cab interior. “And it’s not like my dad helped out much.”

“I’m sure he did, one way or another. I knew him in passing, and he seemed to care about you greatly. You must have a lot of wonderful memories of him to look back on.”

“I- I guess so,” Thomas replied, falling silent after that.

Because when he thought about it, how much did he _really_ remember?

He was startled from his thoughts as the truck rumbled to a crawl, the drive becoming bumpy and erratic as Washington steered them off the road and into a flat area, the ground red where the thick clay typical of local soil was exposed to the air. When they hopped out of the truck (Thomas glad for the distraction from his own thoughts), Thomas grimaced at the mud clinging to his shoes. When he glanced up, he saw the tall trees around him gathering across the sky, save for a single bar of moonlight that struck the ground where the trees had been sliced apart to create a space for a powerline.

No wonder they pulled over here -- if anything crossed over the gap in the trees created by the powerline, they would see it, and if anything paused out of fear of travelling into the light, they’d be able to run right up and begin chase.

When Martha’s car pulled up, everyone jumped out. Hercules was a fairly large guy, so it was no surprise that he had commandeered the front seat, with Lafayette, Alex, and John all somehow cramming into the back -- although Laf and John weren’t much shorter than Hercules, or Thomas himself. Alex was a comparatively a fair bit smaller. As Hercules stood to stretch, Alex waved Thomas over, and John popped the truck, starting to grab unload everything in the back. At the very least, when they popped the truck and opened the car doors, the flood of warm, yellow light almost staved off the monochrome glow of the moon and shadowy forest around them.

Thomas walked over, rolling on his heels and shooting a nervous glance at the forest around them. Before, his fears had been based off of a single encounter. Now, they could become real. Where was that excitement from earlier?

John had his satchel slung over his shoulder, checking that everything was prepared. Thomas watched with a bemused and mildly concerned look on his face when he pulled on welding gloves next. “Uh, can I ask what’s up with that?”

John went digging through his bag, suppressing a grin. “Didja think I was just some half-rate healer? Buddy, I’m the one who brings the firepower. Welding gloves just make sure I don’t get burnt on accident.” Thomas grimaced as he found he could faintly make out the traces of ash and sharp burns wiped across the palms of the gloves, then yelped as he began pulling out his own little bobbles and containers, holding them worryingly close to his face for them being explosives. “I’ve got powders, I’ve got liquids, I’ve got little glass ornaments filled with crushed leaves and drawn on with markers to make them look like bombs! I’ve got it all, really. Got it all!”

“Uh- not two inches from my face, you don’t,” Thomas winced between his teeth, taking an extra step back. “Not interested in dying, personally.”

He snorted, checking his gloves were securely on. “That’s why Washington and Martha are the only ones allowed to use the shotgun. Trust me; Lafayette once-”

“Gun…?”

“Oh,” he hummed, as if just remembering Thomas hadn’t even been given the basics yet. “It’s just as extra backup. Magic can be cool, but it isn’t invincible.”

Thomas nodded, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Just as backup. He didn’t know much about magic, but everyone here seemed unbothered, unworried. They knew it would be okay. “Sweet. Uh- so...how exactly is this gonna work?”

When John opened his mouth to reply, one two-pound hawk landed on his glove with a flurry of feathers. “The cool thing about these gloves is that they’re so thick, I can perch without worrying about hurting the wearer!” Alex exclaimed, poofing up his wing feathers. Thomas blinked, only able to stare at him for a few moments to gather his thoughts, and in the meantime he heard a small commotion behind him as Lafayette struggled to zip up his jacket. Alex certainly seemed caught up in his own delight, but Thomas was still confused -- he kept having his requests for answers pushed further and further back, and now, when it was soon time to drop into the thick of it, he still didn’t know what to expect. Alex tipped his head, golden eyes indecipherable, then added to his earlier comment, “I’m guessing you’re gonna ask what’s going on? What we’re gonna do?”

Thomas answered with a sharp nod, and Alex fluttered his wings. Getting the hint, Thomas pulled his cloak over his shoulders (and now, it felt like a warm, soft, welcome sensation) and worked on nudging off his shoes and peeling off his socks. Alex began to explain, “So, Lafayette gave us a general idea of where it was. When we head out, he’ll stay back with Martha and she’ll relay -- through phone, y’know -- if he senses anything changing. Now that we’re so close, he’ll be able to keep an eye on bursts of magic and all that, too, in case something goes wrong. That leaves you and I to go out and scout for anything off, figure out what powers that thing might have, how fast it is, get a better location. You’ll be extra helpful here, since it’s dark.” He gave an undignified squawk as Hercules walked over and began trying to secure what looked like a headlamp around the hawk’s chest. “Although I have- _hey, careful-_   adapted to the situation!” He finally wrestled free from Hercules, disdainfully shaking his wings, but was now solidly equipped with a light.

“That’s where I come in!” John gently shook with laughter, and while Alex fumbled to keep his balance on the student’s arm, he seemed determined not to perch anywhere more logical. “I mean, you’ve gotta get them down and done. Then Hercules comes in, and...let’s just say he’s got a way of keeping them down. Not forever, but just long enough to welcome _Washington!_ And he’s...well, he can take care of them, let’s put it that way. ‘Cause remember, all of these things are made from their own foci, so all you gotta do is take the foci but ditch the monster. Simple, right?”

“...No?” Thomas questioned, his breath forming little clouds in the air before him. His shoes and socks were off, and that made his toes sting from the cold of the ground.

“That’s the spirit!” Hercules whooped, slapping Thomas on the back.

Alex tipped his head up, and Thomas almost imagined that the hawk was smiling. “Well, hurry up and shapeshift, man. No time like the present.” He spread his wings, preparing to leap into the air, and his eyes glowed strangely under the moonlight and the faint glow from the cars and their harsh headlights. “ _This is it_.”

“This is it,” Thomas echoed and pulled his cloak over his head, blind for only an instant longer, and in the next, they were floating away from the others and up past the trees.

Right now, it was peaceful.

He wondered for how long that would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another update! The next two chapters (already mostly written!) are going to have some action in them, and I hope to update once again next weekend and then again after that -- getting back into the swing of things with weekly updates, at least until the semester starts back up again!
> 
> Sadly, this chapter is another little interlude -- because things are going to get CRAZY in the next two chapters, and...it won't go well.
> 
> Also, a little reminder that you can find more content around this fic on tjincofm.tumblr.com, including answers to questions and extra doodles and the likes! I've been more active on there recently, hence why I'm plugging it here. :)
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and comfortable heading into the end of 2019!


	17. The Sunrise

They rose over the woods, watching the wild landscape smooth into endless forest below them. It was dull and brown, illuminated enough by the moonlight to show its  _ lack _ of color, beyond the beech trees and evergreens that hadn’t dropped their leaves and needles in the fall. He hoped that the leaves would come in soon; it was nearly April, far too late in the year for it to still be freezing at night and for the world to be scraggly and lifeless. When would the flowers come back? What about the other greenery?

He shuddered, his feathers poofing up a bit. He liked to tell himself that he was never cold as an owl, because for the most part, between the feathers and the sheer excursion of flight, that was true -- but it was still the coldest just before the dawn, and he was thankful that even his feet were covered in feathers. He knew that Alex wasn’t so lucky, and beyond the lack of cozy feet, already hated the cold; the hawk’s talons were tucked close against his body.

He tipped his head up to look towards the sky. There were the stars. Out here, a fair distance from the nearest big city, the sky was dark and filled with points of light. He knew they weren’t free from light pollution, but vaguely, he wondered what the world must look like at night up in the mountains, where it was truly dark. Above, a few wispy clouds dragged their way across the sky, pulling on the moon but never totally obscuring the light.

There was a  _ click _ beside him and he spun his head around to see that Alex had clicked on the light around his chest. It wasn’t a fantastically strong beam, but it did do well enough to illuminate the space below and before the bird. Thomas could concede that while Alex must have fantastic vision as a raptor, that limit applied primarily to in daylight -- while Alex might be able to notice disturbances further off in the horizon, Thomas had the hearing to catch them all the same. Still, though, when it came to avoiding branches and seeing more of the ground below them, it would be understandably helpful for those lacking in night vision -- and besides, where to Thomas the ground swept by without detail, Alex must have been able to pick out every leaf on the ground.

That was the difference between them. Despite his lack of practice, Thomas flew with a quiet beat of slow, wide flaps, making few sounds. Alex flew with grace, but had deep, hard flaps that sounded loud to Thomas’ sensitive hearing.

He was yanked out of his thoughts by Alex’s words. “We ought to split up!” he said. “You can continue down the power line for a ways, and I’ll sweep around to the left, try and keep my eyes peeled for anything...interesting.”

“Right…” Thomas replied, speech giving way to hesitation at the end. He didn’t exactly  _ want _ to split up, but on the other hand, they were both birds flying over an open forested landscape -- not only could they find each other through sight or sound from afar, but they were safe from whatever monsters were creeping about in the muck on the ground.

Alex gave a sharp jerk of the head in reply, a nod, and then he adjusted the angle of his wings and he was dipping away from Thomas, curving off into a wide arc in the distance.

Thomas continued onwards, alone. To his right was the power line, a sharp, straight line perfectly breaking through the trees, and beyond that was the unbroken, unbothered forest. To his left was where Alex had gone, where the monsters were hiding, where they were lurking, ready to strike.

But still, there was nothing to see. The trees were still; there was no wind, no smoke on the horizon or much of anything foreboding. He could sense life around him, but it was found only in small noises and movements, in the skittering of small rodents and the larger, creeping steps of something he presumed to be a fox, or maybe even a bobcat. Or a squirrel? Those could get pretty big, couldn’t they? He dipped into a glide, slowing down to barely float over the tips of the highest-reaching branches, looking from side to side. The world was, as far as it concerned him, still.

Then, with a loud, horrible crash, something threw itself through a tangle of brambles and hit the ground hard, bolting through the woods.

Was it a monster? Or something normal -- just a fox, just a deer, just a coyote.

Against his better judgement, and fully aware that while Alex may have been able to fly easily through the tight tree branches Thomas could  _ not _ do such a thing, Thomas took chase.

For all the reassurances he had received, in horror movies, you were  _ never _ supposed to split up. Everybody knew that! And there he had gone, letting Alex fly away alone. If it had been a false alarm and the creature before him was truly only your standard woodland creature, at least they would have been able to work together to track it down, work together to return and warn the others.

But for  _ some crazy reason _ , Thomas had reason to believe this wasn’t something mundane.

He dipped below the trees, and the sky grew dark as the branches above twisted together to obscure the light of the moon and stars.

And with that, a great-horned owl swept through the trees, talons twitching and wings stiff. Every movement was erratic, fighting to stay in the air, flaps wild and fighting to stay on course in weaving through the branches. Dead, bone-like tree limbs swept by, and with the owl’s speed, he hissed as twigs snapped across his wings.

Owls are built to thrive in the night. They have massive eyes and excellent hearing to single out their prey, navigating thick forests by the light of the smallest sliver of the moon. But Thomas was not a real owl -- he was a desperate fraud, and as he forced himself to follow the path left for him by the creature he was after, he felt himself imagining something white and bounding ahead of him, leading him onwards. The forest became formless, even a light breeze turning weak limbs alive, and Thomas’ heart dropped as he watched the world create an unearthly mockery of the dreams he had of shadowed forests and strange beings.

Then came a scream, more like a howl, swept away by the wind. Loose, fearful, mournful noises, like a man sensing that his only escape was close to being ripped away. The noises were accompanied by a rush of dark leaves, turned brown from the golden hues and crimson tones they had held as they dropped from the parent trees, that flew upwards to blind Thomas and make him draw himself a little higher. Leaves, branches, trees flew past him, and he pushed himself harder, faster, rushing after the monster-!

Thick tendrils of dead vines and dormant limbs grew across the sky, keeping him down, beckining his return to the depths to take chase on foot. The branches above seemed to thicken, melting together in a blur as they shot by, the world dim and growing dark, his only respite in sight: a harsh, thin line of moonlight that formed a horizon before him, a light at the end of the tunnel. He flew to meet it, seeing the way it signified an escape from the foliage around him, watching as a black silhouette moved to block it, rearing up on its back legs and-!

He shot out into the light, for a moment blinded by the silvery glow, and was left with his mind spinning and eyes dazed, his only comprehensible thought being,  _ ‘What’s wrong with the stars?’ _

The world below him seemed to be the sky, a darkness washed out with the ever-present glow of the soon-approaching twilight. Little spackled stars dotted the ground in clusters, spinning and twinkling. And the world above him was something else entirely, something beginning to shift in color and form and growing darker by the moment when all he had searching for was a respite. He twisted in the air, feeling his stomach flip with vertigo, trying to steady himself, searching to find the sky once more, when instead he was plummeting towards the earth.

He hit the ground hard, kicking up chunks of dirt and mud as he rolled onto his back and slid through the shrubs and grass. For a moment, his body felt strange and fuzzy, static-like, and the next, it was cold and shivering as he returned to his human form involuntarily at the impact.

For a time, the world was fuzzy, blurred by glare interspersed with pinpricks of light, and when he reached out to touch them, he watched the fuzzy glow sharpen and dim until he realized what he was looking at: little white honeysuckle flowers creeping across the ground around him. Little white flowers. A voice filled his mind -- one that sounded like his father, as if recounting a memory, from when he was so much younger, from when he and his friends would go out and pluck honeysuckle flowers from the vine to taste their nectar.

“White honeysuckle is invasive, you know. That’s why it’s so sweet -- to distract you from how harmful it can be. The berries are poisonous. The berries will kill a man.”

Then, he lolled his head back, and he was staring up at the sky, the  _ real _ sky, but it was now covered with clouds. Clouds that slowly dragged across the expanse above, edges highlighted in light and drifting to cover the moon.

Wincing, he sat up, rubbing at the back of his head. Ouch. Twigs from dead bushes and stiff brown grass poked at him through the fabric of his cloak, and he groaned, looking around at the field before him. Looked like a cutover -- a chunk of land that had been clearcut and logged a while back. He hadn’t even noticed it while in the air.

Well, he felt stupid. Looking around, he saw nothing to indicate that whatever he was chasing after was real, let alone a monster or a normal animal. Just acres of barren land, small shrubs mixing with grass and the red, red Virginia clay. If anything, he felt safer here -- looking off behind him, there was the treeline, a tall, harsh barrier that stretched halfway to the stars from his viewpoint on the ground. Out in this field, he could see everything around him, keep watch for danger; he had no such protection in the woods. He clambered to his knees, and-

Something breathed just behind him.

He screamed, stumbling over himself to scramble away from whatever was behind him, seeing a point of light perched upon the crest of an uneven patch of soil. And when his eyes focused in one it, his heart sank.

A monster indeed.

It was a creature inverted against the dark soil and towering trees; it had a thin skull whose bone appeared to be ground back into an open grimace, a sharp ridge shooting off of the top. It was a skeletal monster made out of silvery bone and, when it spun its head all the way around to face Thomas -- breaking its own neck with a  _ crack _ in the process -- he watched its gaze seemingly settle upon him, eyes blank but for some reason feeling... _ focused _ ...on him alone.

It resembled a coyote skeleton. That was the best comparison Thomas could make, but even then, it wasn’t quite the same. It had a longer, whip-like tail and a row of thin, pointed spines starting just past the shoulder blades and jutting out along its spine town to its tail. It moved like it was still living, its bones shifting and growing and shrinking like it was breathing smoothly and clearly, despite being frozen solid in the smallest remnants of moonlight.

Then, the solid bone making up its jaw and deadly teeth seemed to warp and shift and curl back in on itself as it forced a smile through its mouth an eye sockets. Thomas froze halfway to his feet, gripping his cloak in his knuckles so hard they turned white -- did he have time to fly away? It was close,  _ so close _ , he wouldn’t have the chance before it pounced -- and then, with an almost pitying, patronizing look, it  _ spoke, _ its voice becoming gravelly and electric.

“Hello again.”

Thomas locked eyes with the creature, watching it slowly lash its boney, whip-thin tail over the ground.

The last monster he had encountered had been animalistic in a strange sort of way. This one, despite being more recognizable in form, was...somehow, less rabid and dangerous than the last. “Hello...” he started in reply, considering his options. The least he could do was stand. Carefully, he pushed one palm into the soil. “You were running...” he continued, trying to keep its attention only on his voice, not on his actions. “Where were you going?” 

The monster seemed to consider his actions, and as he was still on his knees, it didn’t move quite yet. “Home. Going home. Home, home, home-”

As Thomas rose to his fully stand on his feet, the creature suddenly cut itself off and pitched forward onto its front legs and snarled, making him yelp and stumble back. “Ah hold on- Wait- wait, wait waitwaitwait-!” Something -- a rock, or a twig, most likely -- stabbed into the side of his left leg, making him hiss, breaking their eye contact for an instant.

And in the next instant, the monster screeched, a horrific sound of broken glass and radio feedback and television static, and its body swivelled back around to join its head in place and it snapped forward to shove Thomas against the ground, back to the cold earth once more. He screamed, trying to push it off of him, but it clamped its skeletal fingers and claws around his shoulders to keep him pinned.

Then, its liquid-bone skull warped and slipped back to allow is to bare its teeth and grin down at him. “Careful, now.” It must have been referring to the tiny scratch on his leg -- it probably stung, but in the face of the adrenaline shooting through his system as he squired to try and throw it off of him, he didn’t notice. “You’re still only mortal. Only dying from the smallest of injuries.” It pushed its nose against Thomas’ face, making him hiss and turn his head to break their contact. “Unlucky, aren’t you?”

Thomas thrashed, kicking out one leg to knock the monster off-balance and throw it off of him. Scrambling to his feet, he threw his cloak up over his head and leapt away from the soil, ready to transform into a bird, fly off to safety, fly off to get help-

The monster’s jaws clamped around the back of his cloak and slammed him to the ground, kicking up a cloud of red dust. “No! Not to the dark!”

Thomas coughed, gasping in pain as the wind was knocked out of him. “Let me go!” he cried out, pushing himself up on one arm and flailing to throw off its grip. 

He wacked it in the head with a resounding  _ crack _ and the creature screamed, but not in rage -- rather, in pain, jerking its head and growling from the impact.

Thomas blinked, the realization suddenly hitting him. This was the monster from before, the creature built from static and darkness and churning scratches in the fabric of reality, but now, he stared it down and all he felt was a soft buzz in the back of his head, something familiar-

The creature froze up, then glanced aside, tail flicking. It shrank back. “Hurry. The clock is ticking.” Then, dug its claws into the soil, tensed its shoulders, and leapt at Thomas-

And flew above him, then landed hard in the dirt, and when Thomas pushed himself up to shaking feet, the clouds that had covered the moon abruptly swept away to reveal the washed-out yellow of the newfound morning’s light. The undersides of the clouds were a dark gray, and above, shone pale and light.

“Thomas? Dude, are you okay!?” Thomas squinted at the sudden gold bleeding over the horizon, and he rubbed at his eyes, grimacing from the glare, momentarily blinded and dazed.

When the light receded, the monster was gone, and for a moment, he thought he saw a gigantic figure draped in shadows melting out of the forest -- but it was only the spread wings of a hawk, because Alex was calling out for him, swooping down close to the bare earth before returning to his human form. He grabbed at the edges of his cloak and tugged them around himself, shivering, curling his toes against the chill of the ground. “Uh...Thomas?” Alexander was there, and he looked the same as always, save for that his newfound lamp had been removed. Of course it had been; it was now light outside. Now light, even though it had been in the depths of the night just moments before, oh where did the time go-

He blinked, taking an inventory. He was alive. That monster was gone -- but while it had been present, it seemed like a far cry from the black, dangerous creature that had leapt for his neck at the first opportunity. It had some scrap of humanity in it, able to form simple sentences, but not fully think or respond to him. Or maybe it had been trying its best to do just that, having only a few words it could say, and tried to piece them together in a way that made sense. It could only speak of life and death, and had tried to warn Thomas of just that, warn him of something standing on the horizon and-

“I’m okay,” he flatly replied. “Just got disoriented and crashed.” This time, Alex hadn’t been here to save him. In fact, the other man gave zero indication of having witnessed any sort of encounter.

And maybe that was for the better.

“Ouch.” Alex glanced away from him, surveying the scene. As the sun broke the horizon, the fuzzy haze of twilight began to fade; Thomas could see a thick fog gathering through the lowest edges of the trees and the dip of the landscape. The world felt a little emptier now that he could see through the break in the trees; the only spots of color were evergreen trees and yellowed beech leaves.

“Did you...did you find your monster?” Thomas dared to ask.

Alex gave a sharp not of his head. “To the north. Saw a disturbance, Lafayette confirmed, and the others went off that way. I left to find you while they went after it -- I’m not much good attacking on my own.”

Thomas thought back to the day that dark creature had attacked him, when Alex had stunned it in a burst of gold. Then, an instant later, when the bone creature had rushed away in a haze, scared, warning-

He had the horrible, prickling feeling drawing over him that something was looking on, watching, waiting for his next move. He glanced aside, to where the creature had run off to, and saw the large expanse of the clearcut sweeping downwards; he was near the top of a hill. On the horizon, in the gaps between the hills, he could see the mountains.

He turned the other way, back to the woods. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Alex returned to his bird form in one smooth motion, hopping a few feet away to give Thomas space to transform after him. And Thomas did just that, pulling his cloak over his eyes and lifting away from the soil, thankful to draw away from the cold of the ground.

The bushes below him were caked in frost, the leaves of the forest similar, only now truly glowing in the light of dawn. On one end of the horizon, the sky was a soft gold; on the other, the sky held a deeper glow instead. Thomas was thankful that they were flying away from the light, much preferring to be able to see rather than squinting and wincing from the sun.

“It’s kinda funny,” Alex started, and between flaps, Thomas managed to swivel his head around to watch the other with the best approximation of a confused-and-slightly-concerned look he could manage with an inhuman body. The hawk continued on, “But...it’s before and after these missions that’s the worst. Just in case you’re worried, flying after a monster and all that. Gives you time to think about what you could face. But when you’re really in the thick of it, setting traps or stalking monsters or racing after them...man, it’s crazy. Real-life vampire hunter. Like those stories you read about people going after local legends and stuff. I mean, I don’t think we’re at  _ all _ qualified for some of the big, old tales -- but I think we do a pretty good job of cleaning up modern cryptids and all that.”

Thomas suddenly remembered the stuff he had dropped off at the antique shop -- among it all was a book on local legends. “Are they ever...too much for you? Something horrifying, or something that escapes, that stalks you-”

“You forget,” Alex replied a bit smugly, “That we’re more magical than they are. They don’t stand a chance against us!” He blinked, golden eyes blinking out for a moment before returning bright as ever, but with a hint of something else staining them, a hint of worry. “Except-”

Before Thomas could formulate something to say to that, a scream sounded off in the distance. And with barely a glance to the other, they both raced towards the noise.

Something was going on, and it didn’t take someone with a good memory to guess what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time that Thomas took some agency here, because there's a lot going on that only he knows about, and being sensitive and weak will only serve to get them all killed.
> 
> Hope that everyone here is having a good end to their year! For those interested in the fantasy and magic sides to TJINCOFM, I have a new Jamilton witchcraft/fae/fantasy fic started on my profile here on AO3, and am having fun with that as well. For those preferring to stick just to TJINCOFM, the next chapter will be out on Saturday!


	18. The Attack

The closer they grew to their destination, the louder the world became to Thomas’ sensitive hearing, crashing in his skull. The trees shook, the world cracked, and the sounds of the others -- John, Hercules, all of them -- were frantic and filled with movement and energy.

“Don’t get too close!” Alex warned. “We’ve got some scary talons, but I don’t want to test my luck clawing my way out of a monster’s stomach.”

“Wow, that’s not very comforting!” Thomas snapped back, slowing his flight to dip back into the trees, watching the shadows wash over him. The bare branches seemed to weave together and close above them, and he entered a cavern of trees, sweeping together to form the walls of a clearing, the faint orangey-grey of the morning’s light being beaten into a weak, misty haze.

The scene below was totally different than that of the world above. The trees formed lengthened bars across the ground like those of a jail cell blocking out the world, and leaves were swirling in the air, kicked up from the chaos below.

There was the monster -- but while it was more akin to the strange being he had met in his driveway than the elegant but erratic, skeletal creature he had seen that very day, it appeared...weakened. Or perhaps not weakened, but rather fighting to keep its shape as it moved. It was in appearance as the first was, covered in sweeping static that made Thomas avert his gaze to soften the pressure behind his eyes, but it was melting as it moved, strips of not-quite-real skin sloughing of with its movements and evaporating before they touched the ground, limbs quaking in place as it barrelled through the trees. And like the first, it lacked eyes, but had locked its sights onto the magicians shouting and dodging its harsh movements, sliding and scrabbling for purchase on the leaves.

John planted his feet in the soil, pulling something from his bag with his gloved hand -- and whatever it was he held, it appeared to fizz and spark with bolts of energy, flashing yellow and orange and hot and bright and then he tossed it, the substance first hitting the leaves in front of the monster and then spattering against its “skin.”

And the monster screamed, heaving its nonexistent lungs to choke out a gurgling gasp. The substance exploded before it, a wash of flames bleeding across the landscape -- but harming nothing but its target, even the leaves below left untouched. Where it was hit directly, the monster’s flesh seemed to burn away, leaving hissing holes that bore into its interior, dripping and leaking out like a bag hastily tied to contain rotting flesh.

To escape John’s attack, the monster charged -- and only Alex had time to leap away from the branches before the monster hit the tree truck, leaving the tree exploding into hundreds of wood chips. Thomas spread his wings at the last moment, being hit by a tree branch and thrown to the ground -- but he managed to maintain his shapeshifted form, feeling  _ very small _ as he stared up in horror at the monster rearing above him.

“ _ Hercules! _ ” John snapped, thrusting his hand back down into his satchel. “Hurry up!”

“I’m on it, shut up-” Hercules choked out in reply. Thomas could hear him scramble to his feet -- the guy must have been knocked down, or otherwise dove for cover -- before rushing forward. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it-!”

Thomas managed to right himself just in time to see Hercules full-on bodyslam the monster in its side, tendrils of flaky static reaching out and surrounding his shoulders and chest, bleeding into him from the impact. But with a nearly imperceptibly-shaking hand, Hercules braced himself against the monster the best he could while keeping it both from attacking him and from writhing out of his grip, and then touched his free hand to the central gem on his necklace. Then he touched his fingers to the monster’s forehead and wrenched it’s face around to look at him, staring into the empty cavities its eyes  _ should _ have filled.

And for a moment, the scene was still -- Hercules and the monster took up the center of the clearing, Hercules’s muscles tense but his face blank, both watching each other.

They were at a mental standoff -- not quite a stalemate, as Hercules must have been winning, but if he broke his concentration, the monster would be free again. Alexander was gone, the best Thomas could see (he must have flown off, but if he did, where would he have gone?), and John was readying another attack -- just in case.

And that just in case seemed to be necessary. First, it was the monster’s tail that began to quake, lashing out across the leaves and then whipping and slapping against the tree branches, John jumping back to avoid it. Then, its legs began to regain feeling, clawing at the ground and ripping at exposed roots, movement and power rushing forward like a wave of thunder to return to its forelimbs and head.

Hercules nearly imperceptibly twitched, but that was enough.

The monster burst to life, throwing him aside. John sprang up on his heels and jumped into action, gathering another handful of flames -- but the monster was prepared this time, drawing its mass backwards like a tidal wave and rolling aside, using its momentum to barrel into John.

He screamed as the monster tore into his shoulder, clamping down its -- teeth, did it have teeth? -- and throwing its head back, flinging him to the ground.

Alex was still nowhere to be seen. Hercules was shaking, steadying himself upright against a tree branch; his eyes seemed foggy and unfocused, dazed like Alexander had been after spending several long moments using his magic to seek out monsters across the landscape. John was half-limp against the forest floor, adrenaline alone seeming to be what kept him going as he pushed himself up, scrabbling for his satchel but appearing unable to think straight enough to grab it.

And there was Thomas, watching it all, being useless.

He didn’t like that feeling.

He spread his wings and beat into the air. In his bird form, he was a little larger than Alex was, talons a little bigger, a little more dangerous-

And he connected with the monster, feeling it flesh  _ pop _ beneath his sharp talons, and although he smelled nothing, he imagined what it must have tasted like on his tongue, of rancid, rotting liquids and musty, chemical inks and the sharp taste of electrical static and burning rubber and-

The monster shook, and he shuddered as he felt a chunk of skin and muscle come apart under his grip, throwing him off its back. A second later, and whatever had been clamped in his talons dissolved into formless static that buzzed between his eyes and disappeared, and his talons were only stained dark for another instant more before they came out clean.

Alex was gone. Hercules had fallen to his knees. John was limp on the ground. Thomas pushed himself up to attack again, but found himself with plain old hands and feet, and was too dizzy to reach for his hood and try again -- and when he turned his gaze up to watch the monster through his own eyes, his  _ real, human eyes _ , all he saw was something buzzing and painful flitting before his gaze. It bore a spike through his skull, a pounding pressure, and he dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to  _ focus _ .

A shot rang out through the air, and Thomas blinked and glanced up just long enough to see the scene before him: Martha lowering a gun away from her shoulder, watching the monster hiss and swivel around to face her, a chunk taken out of its side. Its wound appeared as more of an inconvenience than anything, but it was enough to distract the monster, as it stepped away from John to bunch up its muscles in preparation for a next barrelling charge.

Martha stood her ground with ease, and Thomas noticed something about what she was wearing -- looped around her neck was a locket, a silver locket, that seemed to glimmer in the light. Then, the monster charged -- and her husband, George Washington, leapt in front of her, opening his palm to reveal an ornate, decorated...knife.

The monster didn’t have time to stop.

Thomas averted his gaze -- more due to the pounding in his skull than anything else -- but gritted his teeth at the sound the monster made.  _ This _ much was familiar -- the gritting screams, the radio feedback, and the final drowning glug as the monster ebbed away to nothingness.

Washington had plunged his knife into the monster and held it still long enough for it to seep away all of its magical energy until there was nothing left. It didn’t look like Washington was faring too well from the excursion -- for someone Thomas had only vaguely known as a professor in school who knew too much about the late 1700s to ever possibly be functional as a human being, it was worrying to see that same person crouched on the ground, heaving and tightening his fingers around his knife, a scrape on his cheek and a cut running down his arm where he had been slammed into the ground. Martha appeared to have stepped aside to avoid the brunt of the attack -- which was a good thing, considering how much of their group was down for the count.

Lafayette came running over -- through the trees, Thomas could see the power line, and the car. Flitting behind him was Alexander, overtaking the other after a few seconds and returning to the clearing.

Sunshine drifted through the trees, light enough to see the clearing for what it was: empty, except for the few of them standing to fill it.

They had done it. They had taken down a monster.

“John!” Alex yelled, breaking the silence and landing on the forest floor with a hard  _ thud _ of human feet on leaves and dirt, tripping as he lost his footing for a moment. He ran to John’s side, cloak billowing behind him, and dropped down to his knees, trying to pull him to sit up, tugging off his coat -- Thomas rose to wobbly legs, blinking -- for a moment, he thought he saw John’s arm stained in something dark and damp, but the next, he recognized it as blood.

Not again.

Again?

“John, c’mon-” Alex snapped, fear evident on his face, “I don’t know squat about human anatomy; you’re the healer here, I- I can’t do anything- I have your bag here, but you’re the only one who can use it!” He was wearing a t-shirt, and Alexander pushed up John’s sleeve to where he was injured, a dark bite mark centered in a ring around the joint.

Thomas rushed across the clearing to stand by John. Behind him, Washington was shouting -- “Lafayette, look for its focus, we can’t let  _ that _ reform- Hercules! Hercules, come on kid, get up-”

He knelt down beside John, Alex gripping the man’s satchel in both hands, not seeming to notice Thomas there. Instead, Alexander was babbling, “I can’t help you, I don’t know how-”

“Give it here.” Alex seemed to barely think of what he was doing as his grip loosened, Thomas taking the satchel from him with ease. Instead, Alexander was back to worrying over John, so scared, and so unsure what would come next.

What to do when your tank was also your healer?

Thomas wasn’t stupid. If everything he gathered was correct, he should be able to use another’s focus. May very well have done exactly that before, as far as he knew -- was “his” focus even truly his own?

Well, if there were anytime to test that little theory of his out, now was it. Now, before they lost someone.

He plunged his hand into the satchel, finding only emptiness touching his fingertips, humming softly against his skin. That night in the parking lot, John had suggested that he worked off of intuition, sensing what he needed to do, going one way or another by the whims of his soul. Thomas had none of that -- but he did have an idea of what John needed. “You’d better have some kind of magic healing potion premade in here or we’re all boutta be awfully disappointed,” Thomas hissed, freezing up as he felt something smooth manifest in his palm.

He pulled his hand out, and nestled in it was a cheap, tiny container casting faint, glowing spots of light across his skin. He twisted off the cap and shoved the open container towards John, shaking him, trying to keep his attention from swimming and slipping away.

John weakly took the container, and Alex was there to help him, pressing the strange, alchemical substance to his shoulder. As far as either man seemed to care, Thomas had only gotten the healing salve because John had already pulled it from his satchel without Alexander’s noticing. That was all, that was all.

The skin knit back together. Slowly, for sure, but the bleeding was stopping -- and John was returning to his senses. Neither he nor Alex seemed to have the place of mind to think much harder as to what Thomas had done there, but he was still happy to help, doing whatever he could.

Hercules.

Thomas turned around, pulling away from Alex and John and scanning the clearing. Was he okay? What had happened there, that he hadn’t been able to keep that monster still and trapped with him?

Instead of the nearly-empty clearing filling his field of view, standing right behind him was Martha. She- had she seen him use John’s focus?

If she did, she gave little indication of it -- she glanced at him, gave the tiniest nod, and knelt down to help Alexander with John. Her gun was nowhere to be found.

Spotting Hercules, Thomas clambered to his feet and jogged across the clearing. “Dude, what happened there? You okay?” he asked, grimacing in worry as he saw the man rubbing his temples. He helped the other to his feet, and Hercules took a heavy breath, wincing and shading his eyes.

“I-I didn’t mean to let it go like that. I had it frozen still like I always do. But- when I do, it’s always...there’s always something to clamp my hold onto, something to grip. This one- it was slipping- slipping away-” 

Thomas took a half step back, seeing Hercules shake his head, then grabbed the other man by his shoulders and held him in place. “Hercules! Dude, snap out of it-”

“Thomas,” Washington called from his place near the center of the clearing, Lafayette beside him -- although the teen looked confused himself, thoughtlessly spinning his monocle lense, his focus, between his fingers. “We can’t find it’s focus. Anything over your way?”

“I- I do not think it has a focus,” Lafayette tried to explain. “I can’t sense anything.” He rubbed his eyes. “I sensed it, the monster, but...I thought there are two. There was only one. And now, I can feel none.” His English was even rougher than usual.

Washington frowned, then looked from Lafayette to Thomas and Hercules to Martha, John, and Alex. “Just a stray scrap of magic, then...no wonder it was collapsing in on itself. It was hardly able to maintain its own form, as it was.” He seemed to be failing to convince even himself with that argument, but it was all they had.

Thomas chose not to comment, and at some point, they got John to his feet. He cradled his arm, but could move it, and the area around his shoulder now appeared red and raw and scabbed over, but no longer at risk of bleeding him dry.

They returned to the car and the truck. This time, Alexander hopped in the truck, and Thomas was regulated to the back seat of the car, checking he had all his possessions first. Feeling tiredness wash over him, by some miracle, he got back to his dorm without incident, sitting in the parking lot for a long minute before pulling the keys out of the ignition and heading inside. The building was only barely beginning to wake up -- even those stupid, annoying freshmen hadn’t started their antics yet. He paused only long enough to peel off his shoes before he collapsed back in bed.

He should have felt a lot of things, now. His brush with danger, his brush with magic. But instead, he just felt empty. And empty as he was, he slept.

And he dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a rather extended break, I'm back to writing for TJINCOFM! The rest of the story is planned out as well, and I'm excited to continue!
> 
> I spend quite a bit of time working in the library since that environment helps me focus, but the other day when I went in there, the entire place smelled like burning rubber. However, every person I spoke to sniffed the air and said, "Mmm, someone's making BBQ!" That isn't very relevant, outside of the fact that the monster they fought probably smelled horrible, but I wanted to share.
> 
> Thomas is having a rough time, and he's starting to question reality a little more than is healthy...

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks make my day! I love hearing discussion, questions, and ideas.
> 
> For more Hamilton content, check out [my Hamilton fandom account](https://beeshavethrees.tumblr.com) on tumblr! I'm always happy to respond to asks and requests, but I don't often check my PMs on it, so if you need to message me, go to my main [here!](https://ariibees.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'll usually post updates to this story on [this account](https://tjincofm.tumblr.com) and post extra fun tidbits like doodles and story hints. This also serves as an ASK BLOG for the characters specific to this fic, on which I also take requests!


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